And then there were 3
by Aussieflower
Summary: SEQUEL TO HIM AND HER. please read that first . Established Irene/Sherlock ship, but now with appearances from Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Nero and Moriarty. Irene and Sherlock have new obstacles in their way that test their relationship more than before. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello peoples! Welcome to the ****sequel**** of Him and Her!**

**I wrote this ****sequel**** because I somehow wanted to include Nero in my story, but several people (whose opinion I valued very much, namely LibbyC) only wanted a story between Sherlock and Irene. So, this sequel is a golden oppurtunity for me to finally write some daddy fluff :)  
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**This chapter is only the prologue, hence the shortness. I know that I started the sequel very directly, there isn't really an intro, but please bear with me. Oh, and sorry if Sherlock is rather cold and cruel in this chapter, it's going to get better, I promise!**

**Enjoy xx**

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Fear.

It wasn't an emotion Irene Adler felt often.

And it certainly wasn't an emotion she liked.

But right now, as she sat on the doctor's chair, she had to admit that she was scared.

Her hand dropped absentmindedly to her stomach, cradling the baby.

Her little child.

This was one of her endless doctor check-ups she insisted on going to. She wanted to make sure that her child was healthy.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and trying to calm down. Today was the day she was going to tell Sherlock that she was pregnant with his child.

Easier said than done.

She had realised she was pregnant about 4 and a half months ago, shortly after she had visited Sherlock in London. But she had refused to tell him.

At first she told herself that she would make sure that the baby was healthy and then tell him, but it was clear after the first 5 doctor appointments that she lacked the courage to do it. She knew that Sherlock didn't want a child.

But this morning she had made up her mind to finally tell him the news. He was the father, if only in the biological sense, and he deserved to know. Irene knew that she would be hurt if Sherlock wouldn't want anything to do with the baby, but she would understand. She could raise the child on her own if she had to.

Telling Sherlock would be very difficult though. Irene had gone through possible conversations a thousand times in her head, but each time she gave up. Sherlock was simply unpredictable.

She knew that he would be very angry that she had kept it from him. She was about five months along, and he had no idea.

She sighed again but pasted a smile on her face when the doctor entered.

She may have been scared, but she would never ever let anyone see it.

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She didn't think that she had ever had a harder moment in her life when she pressed the call button on Skype.

Waiting as the phone rang.

She may have been terrified, but she still smiled when she saw Sherlock's face on the screen. The blue green eyes, the high cheek bones, the curly black hair and the smile reserved especially for her.

He sounded cheerful as he talked, a smooth mask in place, and yet still allowing emotion to filter through.

He had no idea she was about to drop a bombshell.

"I'm pregnant" she said, not caring if she was interrupting his speech or not. In truth, she hadn't really been listening. "Yours, obviously." She added, in case he should suspect anything different.

His voice cut off from anything he might have been saying, his eyes widened, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and his mouth opened slightly. For one second, he seemed unable to move, or speak; unable to exhibit any sort of reaction. She could almost see his brain come to a standstill.

She bit her lip, but kept her face blank, not wanting him to see any fear or uncertainty there. She disappeared behind the mask that had been Irene Adler, the cold, smooth professional one. The mask made it easier for both of them.

"Ah" he said after a while, and although he didn't look shaken at all, she could practically hear the gears in his brain working, trying to figure everything out, the timing, the sheer possibility of it all.

"Almost five months, yes?" he questioned, having figured it out almost immediately. She squinted slightly, trying to see a hint of betrayal or anger in his eyes through the webcam.

"Yes." She admitted, finding none.

"I assume you have your own reasons to only tell me about this now." He said, and slowly emotions started making their way into his usually calm and detached voice. Impatience? Anger? Scorn? She couldn't really tell.

Irene took a deep breath. "I was…apprehensive" she began, and saw him raise an eyebrow. His composure was calm, at least on the outside.

"Apprehensive?" he asked, slight sarcasm colouring his tone. In a less serious situation, she would have said he was mocking her.

Oh God, he was going to make her say it.

"_Scared_" she said, and saw him nod once. But apparently he wasn't just going to leave it there.

"Because?"

She laughed once, shortly and without mirth. What a stupid question. "You already view love as a disadvantage. And now there's even more of that added to a mix, by a child. _Our child Sherlock_." She closed her eyes briefly. "I didn't think you would have wanted it."

Sherlock stared at her, as if he was analysing her and her thoughts. But he never denied what she had just said.

He simply nodded. "You have been to the Doctor to make sure the child is healthy, I presume?" he asked. Most fathers would have done this with anxiousness colouring their tone, needing to know that their unborn child was healthy. But Sherlock spoke coldly and emotionlessly, rendering Irene right.

He viewed it as an inconvenience.

He didn't want it. She supposed she should stop the sudden feeling of utter disappointment and hurt crashing down on her; after all, this was what she had been preparing herself for, hadn't she? That Sherlock would keep a safe distance, that he would be cold and emotionless, that he wouldn't want the child. But a small part of her, such a small and then seemingly insignificant part of her had just _hoped_.

She closed her eyes briefly, and if Sherlock noted her present feelings, he didn't say anything.

"Perfectly healthy" she said, and suddenly decided that she wasn't in the mood for this conversation anymore. She had said what needed saying. Right now she just wanted time to think.

"We'll talk later" she added, and for one tiny second she saw something cross Sherlock's face. But she supposed she must have imagined it, because when she looked again, his mask was firmly back in place.

"Yes" he answered, with some sort of devastating finality in his tone, and she pressed the off button. His image disappeared.

She didn't see him open his mouth suddenly, and then close it again when he realised that she had already ended the call.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and groaned.

The thought of him as a father…

It unnerved him, to say the least.

Pregnant. With his child.

Sherlock closed his eyes. They hadn't seen each other in some time, so he supposed that the only time she could possibly have gotten pregnant was during the time she had been in London.

He took a deep breath and tried to identify the emotions racing through him, the reasons his heartbeat had suddenly sped up, and the reason he suddenly needed to concentrate on breathing. He felt angry, at least a bit, because he had only found out about the baby now. Surely, as the father, Irene should have told him when she first discovered the fact that she was pregnant?

And yet, he understood her initial hesitation and fear. Looking back on his reaction now, he could clearly see why she had refrained from telling him.

But keeping his customary mask in place had simply been so much _easier_. He hadn't had to think about the emotion he had felt when she announced that she was pregnant, furthermore that the child was his. How was he supposed to react?

She was partially right though. If it had been his choice, then he would not have wanted the child. Why would he? A child (_his_ child) was just another thing that made him weaker, something that made him so much more vulnerable. Giving in to his feelings for Irene had already been hard enough, because he now had his own pressure point, a person he would do anything for, a person that someone could so easily use to target him.

And now there was another.

But the choice hadn't been his, nor had it been Irene's. And that changed the situation, because either of them could pretend that the child didn't exist.

He shook his head. No, it was true that he wouldn't have wanted the child. But now it was a living thing, and he didn't have the choice anymore.

He remembered Irene's expression, the one she had tried so hard to conceal. The disappointment and hurt that had clouded her features only for a second, and yet the time had been ample for him to understand her feelings. He knew that she had expected his reaction, and yet he had still hurt her.

He groaned again, frustration and emotions that he simply did not understand making him uncomfortable and agitated. There was a sort of tickling sensation at the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't identify it. The thought irritated him to no end.

Sherlock was grateful that he was currently alone. If anyone had heard the conversation it would have led to (possibly) unnecessary and tedious questions, and he had absolutely no idea how to answer any of them. The pure thought of imagining himself with a baby made him feel strange. Luckily, John was out with Sarah, and Mrs Hudson had taken the day off to visit her sister.

Good. John might be mad at him for this, but he would understand.

He opened up a new browser on his laptop, typed in a few simple words, scrolled up and down with the mouse. Then he grabbed a piece of paper from the already crowded table and hastily scribbled a note to John and to Mrs Hudson, not bothering explaining any of the smaller details.

Venturing into his bedroom, he grabbed a small suitcase, and sent a quick text to John.

10 minutes later, he was in a taxi heading towards the airport, ready to go on the first flight to New Zealand.

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**Hope you liked it! Please review and tell me what you think, your feedback really means a lot :) Please also, if you have any constructive criticism, things I could improve, or if you think the characters are too OOC then tell me that too. **

**Laura **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for all your lovely feedback, it is very much appreciated. **

**Especially a huge thanks to , whose reviews are always long and very very lovely. Xx (Oh, and the nursery rhyme ting wasn't intended like that at all, I was basically just trying think of a title ;) )**

**Enjoy this chapter and please tell me what you think.**

**xx**

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Sherlock wondered what he was getting himself into during the flight. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to Irene when he arrived, and even less sure that she would actually want him there. Their relationship was already complex enough, but now there was extreme tension and uncertainty added to the mix.

He went through possible conversations with Irene in head, but in the end decided that he was wasting time. Their conversations never went as planned.

He briefly wondered how long he would stay with her – if she wanted him to stay that is. He could tell he'd hurt her feelings, and wasn't very sure whether or not his presence would be welcome.

He sighed to himself, and involuntarily started thinking about their child. Somehow, now that he had accepted that he was going to be father, the thought process was a little easier.

He wondered what name Irene would pick (in his mind _she_ would definitely pick it, he really couldn't think of anything.) He wondered whose facial features the child would inherit, and which behavioural patterns. He found himself smiling at the thought of a little two year old with Irene's face and his mind.

Actually, now that he thought about it, it was quite a fascinating experiment. A child with their combined intelligence would surely be the smartest child that had been born at least in the passing decade.

He briefly smirked at the hypothetical reaction Mycroft would have (_hypothetical_ being the keyword, because, if possible, Mycroft should never find out). Mycroft was usually calm and composed, much like Sherlock, but if he found out about Irene and the baby…well, his reaction would be hilarious to say the least. Sherlock was sure he and Irene would get a laugh out of it…before they called the ambulance to escort Mycroft to hospital and into intensive care.

He sighed again and leaned back in his seat. He needed to think.

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She was shocked when she opened the door and saw him standing there, to say the least. She honestly thought he wouldn't care, but there he was, looking exhausted and yet still incredibly handsome.

His eyes widened slightly as he took her in; clearly he had not thought much about the physical aspects of her pregnancy. But she was five months along, what did he expect?

"You came" was all she said as she stood aside to let him in. His expression was serious, but a corner of his lips tugged up in a slight smile.

"Yes" was all he said as he swept past her into the living room. She saw the slight uncertainty in his eyes and bit her lip. Did he regret his decision to come here?

But Sherlock Holmes didn't do regrets. He thought things out rationally and clearly, even when sentiment was concerned. Which meant that the uncertainty and hesitancy in his eyes meant something else, something completely different. But what?

He set down his luggage and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his eyes and sighing. She simply looked at him, her gaze clear and steady, even though she would much rather have looked down. The tension between was so thick you could slice it with a knife.

He looked back at her, his gaze never breaking, like hers. Neither of them looked away, because looking away meant submitting. That old streak between them had remained, and neither felt like losing.

Finally it was Irene who broke the silence, with the first words that came into her head: "Are you hungry?"

It was a stupid question, obviously, because she knew as well as anyone that Sherlock never really bothered eating. Currently however, they were both being rather cold, because they were both unsure. He knew he had hurt her feelings, and she knew that he was angry at her, and about the whole situation. They were on very thin ice, and it could crack any second.

Sherlock blinked slightly, and she realised that though his eyes had been trained on her, his thought had been somewhere completely different.

"Hmm?" he said distractedly, and she tried to stop a small smile escaping at his typical behaviour. "Oh, umm, no" he said hurriedly, as if the issue required any actual thought. He shook his head and looked at the floor for a second, while she regarded him for a small moment and then moved to the kitchen.

She wasn't surprised when he followed her, but she ignored him, letting him make the first move. She didn't want to force him into anything.

He stood behind her, watching her every move as she opened the fridge, took out some juice and went over to the fruit bowl, carefully slicing up a kiwi. He was so quiet, and she almost jumped when she suddenly felt his hand on her shoulder.

Almost, being the keyword. She would do anything in her power to make sure that he wouldn't know that she was scared or anxious.

"I'm sorry" he murmured gently after a while, and Irene thought she must have heard wrong. Was Sherlock Holmes _apologising_?

Her breath caught in her throat for a second, and neither of them dared to break the moment. His hand gently moved on her shoulder, his fingers tracing down her arm slightly, but stopping at the elbow, and then repeating the whole pattern again.

He was giving her space.

"Forgive me?" he murmured again, in his lovely, rich deep voice and she knew she was powerless to resist him.

Although she didn't say anything, he knew. She didn't have to speak; he knew that she wasn't angry from the way she stood, from the way she relaxed suddenly, from the small sigh of relief that escaped her lips. He put his other hand on her shoulder as well, now trailing both of them down her arm until he reached her waist and pulled her against him.

She went willingly, and took comfort in the contact. It had been some time since someone had held her like that.

She twisted her body after a while, so that instead of simply holding her they were hugging, and buried her face against his shoulder. He barely heard her apology, but told her that he wasn't angry all the same.

She leant up to kiss him, and the rest was blur.

He supposed he could have blamed it on his sleep deprived and jetlagged mind, or the fact that he hadn't eaten for almost a week, or the fact that he had recently found out he was going to be a father to possibly the most intelligent child in the whole world, but if he was honest with himself, he knew that he had to blame it on succumbing to physical desire.

Feelings clouded his head, and for a few moments he was simply unable to think clearly.

Or think at all.

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He didn't actually pause to reflect on their current situation until much later, when both of them were lying side by side on Irene's bed, both somewhat breathless.

"Have you thought of names?" he asked after their breathing eased, his voice once again a drawl, but with a hint of interest. Irene was no longer worried about his detached tone. She knew that he cared, at least a bit, even if he didn't want her to know.

"Nero if it's a boy" she said, rolling over and facing the ceiling. "And probably Jasmine if it's a girl."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Such common names" he said, "For the girl at least." Irene smirked.

"Have any better suggestions?"

Sherlock looked surprised. "Me? I'm hardly an expert in that field, Irene."

"And I am?" she volleyed back. She was right, Sherlock thought, annoyed that the though hadn't occurred to him earlier. He had been so busy concentrating on how utterly new this was to _him_, that he had forgotten that Irene had absolutely no experience with children either.

"You're a woman" he acknowledged, trying to find a way out of the corner she had just managed to trap him in. "It should be…instinctive for you".

Irene snorted delicately. "What's wrong with the names I picked, if it's instinct then?" she asked, teasingly raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock shrugged, also looking up at the ceiling. "I just think that a child as wondrous and intelligent as ours deserves some special name, that is all".

Irene fought hard to contain a smile at that. _Wondrous child_. Sherlock cared, a lot more than he was letting on.

He, however, took her silence to be doubt. "Surely a child with our combined intellect should be considered above average, Irene" he said, rolling over to face her, and propping himself up on one elbow.

Irene laughed at the thought. "Certainly" she said teasingly. "With our combined intelligence and our combined good looks, it will become the wonder of the century".

Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing full well that she was making fun of him. Strangely, he didn't mind.

"I assume you haven't asked about the gender of the child, yes?" he asked after a while. Irene shook her head.

He nodded, and they both lay there quietly. Neither of them were uncomfortable anymore, they now both knew where they stood. The silence between them was now a comfortable, thoughtful one, instead of an edgy one.

Sherlock yawned slightly, the fact that he had not slept for a good week slowly catching up with him. The fact that he had learned that Irene was pregnant didn't help much.

"Fine" he admitted grudgingly, as he felt sleep starting to claim him. "Nero or Jasmine it is".

Irene smiled to herself, and, feeling a lot happier than she had a few hours ago, also dropped off to sleep, pulling herself to Sherlock's chest.

She was far too sleepy to notice the way his heartbeat accelerated slightly at the touch.

Nothing ever changed.

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**Phew.**

**That was HARD.**

**But I finished it. Yay :)**

**Hope you enjoyed, and please review!**

**Laura x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello. I am SO SORRY for the long wait, and the time it took to get this updated. I was completely stuck with this chapter, and just couldn't figure out how to continue. Anyways; I finished (*wipes sweat from brow*) so here you go :) enjoy xx**

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John called sometime around three in the morning, either forgetting or simply ignoring the time change. Sherlock saw from the amount of missed calls on his phone that John had been attempting to reach him for some time.

He sighed and pressed the answer button. He knew that although telling John that Irene was pregnant might stun him momentarily, it would only end up fuelling his need to ask thousands of tedious questions. And that was something that Sherlock wanted very much to avoid. At least for the time being.

He sighed as he heard John's slightly irritated voice at the other end. John sounded almost worried.

"Hey Sherlock. Are you two okay?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. He had mentioned that he was going to New Zealand in his note, knowing that John would make the connection. He hadn't expected overwhelming concern for Irene though. He knew that John was still a little…scared of her.

"Yeah, fine" he answered, yawning slightly. It was very annoying that the one time he finally made the resolution to get some sleep, he was rudely interrupted.

"Something just came up" he continued, when he had the impression that John still wasn't entirely convinced. "I and Irene just needed to…clarify something."

"Okay?" John said, wondering what the hell Sherlock and Irene would need to clarify. (Then again, he viewed their relationship as fairly messed up, so he supposed that Sherlock could be providing a legitimate argument.)

His question was only greeted by silence, which, although certainly not unusual, irritated John. He wished Sherlock could actually reply sometimes.

"Well, I'll let you get on with it then" he said, and only heard as Sherlock mumbled something in return.

"When are you planning on coming back?" he asked suddenly, just before Sherlock pressed the 'end' button, although he knew it was in vain. Sherlock spent as much time with Irene as he liked, and only left when the two of them were about to rip each other's heads off.

Sure enough, Sherlock didn't have a direct answer to that, but only said that he would keep in touch. His voice sounded odd somehow, and John decided to blame it on the bad connection.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, simply needing to make sure that Sherlock wasn't about to get himself into some sort of big trouble (maybe Irene had gotten tired of having to behave, and had decided to _mis_behave and steal something or whatever, and Sherlock had to fly over to clear it up. It would certainly explain his vague replies, although John _was_ fairly used to those.)

"It is 3 'o' clock in the morning" came the slightly annoyed reply. "I was actually trying to get some sleep."

"Ah" said John, sounding surprised. Sherlock and sleep were two words that simply sounded strange together. He supposed Irene must be some sort of wonder woman, if she had managed to make the famous detective sleep. (He briefly wondered what Irene and Sherlock could have done that was so extremely tiring, but suddenly decided that he would rather not think of that at all.) But the sleepiness certainly explained why Sherlock's voice sounded so off.

"Goodnight then", he added quickly.

Sherlock mumbled something in reply and pressed the end button, tossing the phone somewhere across the room. Before he knew it, his head dropped back on the pillow and he was once again fast asleep.

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Sherlock thought about John's phone call the next morning, and wondered how long he did actually plan to stay. He supposed that it was the traditional role of the father to support the mother and the child, but he really couldn't imagine himself as the smiling, doting, picturesque father.

If Irene wanted him to stay though, he would, at least for a while. Staying for longer periods of time was dangerous, because it meant that people like Lestrade and Mycroft would get suspicious. The fact that he kept disappearing on cases outside of England already appeared strange to them and he didn't want them to become inquisitive. It would put Irene at risk.

Even Mrs Hudson didn't know about Irene yet, though he had given John permission to tell her, should she ever care to ask what he was up to during one of his longer absences. John had glared at him, and Sherlock knew that his flatmate hated having to be the one to always tell other people news. Mycroft always used him as his own personal messenger, and now Sherlock had started doing it too.

But the crux of the matter was that Sherlock really didn't feel like telling anyone that he had finally submitted to these particular emotions. He didn't deny the fact, but he didn't like mentioning it. Besides, what words would he use? Girlfriend? Partner? Lover?

None of them described Irene, or the relationship the two of the shared.

He knew that Irene felt the same.

He avoided the subject of actually asking her whether or not she wanted him to remain with her for a longer period of time for a while, but he knew that eventually it needed to be breached.

He decided to do so when they were both immersed in a chess game in Irene's living room. Even though she was sitting in a rather unladylike position, due to her large stomach, Irene still managed to look elegant. Sherlock marvelled at how she managed to pull that look off.

He was currently losing the game (again; Irene was the only person he _ever_ lost to. Although, in recent years, she had also been the only person to actually ever play against him.) He decided to ask her about the duration of his stay also as a hope of somehow distracting her from the game, if only for a sort time. (The time it took to get her king, to be exact.)

"How long do you want me to stay?" he asked, his voice a slight drawl and his eyes focused on the game. Irene breath caught slightly, realising the significance of his question, but she too kept her eyes firmly on the chess board.

Both of them were acting as if the topic wasn't important at all, although they both knew it was. But pretending was easier, for both of them. They were both aware that they put on this dismissive act, but that was precisely why they valued each other so much. Other people would ask this question with so much emotion in their tone and that made them uncomfortable. The situation was generally easier to handle or discuss if they both hid sentiment behind a mask of indifference.

Irene was quiet for a few seconds, staring intently at the game, until Sherlock finally looked up to face her. She used that advantage to take his queen.

"How long do you want to stay?" she asked vaguely, although she knew that that question was stupid. Sherlock was generally direct and straightforward to the point of extreme rudeness, but there was some very slight awkwardness in the air between them, something that made them act slightly differently than usual. Both were considerate of the other's feelings, and neither wanted to cause hurt and discomfort. Obviously, this made the situation a lot more delicate and a lot less practical, which irritated both of them slightly.

Sherlock shrugged in response to her question, and they both finished their game in silence, using concentration as an excuse to avoid the subject. At the end Irene sighed and leaned back in her chair and smiled slightly at Sherlock's sour expression. Even after all the time he had spent with her, and after all the chess games she had won, he still wasn't used to losing.

"Okay" she said suddenly, because she could feel the mounting tension in the air. "I know this is a delicate subject, but on second thought I would rather get it out of the way."

Sherlock smirked slightly, although he was grateful that she had made the first move. "Don't let me force you" he said, running a hand through his curls and leaning back in his own chair. Irene rolled her eyes.

"I'm just sparing you the indignity of discussing _sentiment_" she told him pointedly, and Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in resignation. She was right, of course.

"Obviously, the longer we stay cooped up in here together, the sooner we'll probably kill each other" she said and smirked. "To put it mildly."

"Very mild" Sherlock said sarcastically, although he couldn't help the small smile that escaped his lips.

Irene sighed. "Obviously, I want you to stay, at least for a bit. I could pretend that I don't want you around, but that would be lying, so…"

Sherlock said nothing, simply raising his eyebrows at her strange (though true) remark. Irene looked at him in mock irritation.

"You're supposed to say something nice about me now" she told him, lips curling up into another smile. In the end though, she decided to spare him the effort, and carried on, still smiling to herself. Sherlock observed her with amusement.

"But I don't want to force you into anything. I don't want to force myself into anything either. I have no idea how exactly to deal with a child, though in my case it's more _instinctive_, as you said.

Sherlock smirked slightly at her, but his expression turned serious. He stood up, walking over to her, and sitting down in her chair. It was a wide armchair, and the two of them could easily sit in it together, but Irene twisted her body until she was more or less sitting on his lap. Sherlock sighed. So much for wanting this conversation to remain light. Obviously, the second he felt uncomfortable, he couldn't make his escape, unless he wanted to throw Irene off. And he did not feel like doing that.

"I think" he said carefully, actually thinking his words through before he said them for once, "That it would be best if I stay for a few more days. If I stay longer Mycroft will start to get suspicious."

Irene nodded, knowing that there was a lot more Sherlock wanted (or rather needed) to say, but he wasn't entirely sure how to phrase it. Their relationship was complicated, and he wasn't sure how to say what needed saying without somehow mentioning the feelings he had for her. Both of them still made sure to stay away from the word love, even though they both knew that that was pretty much what summed up their relationship. But love was a petty word, it showed weakness and it was something that they still viewed as a disadvantage. It was unspoken, taboo, although there were times when both of them came close to almost saying it, before realising what they were doing. A child didn't help much in that respect.

So the two of them were silent, but Irene knew that if she ever needed Sherlock, then he would come. She wasn't sure how involved he would want to be with the baby once it was born, because he certainly wasn't the classic daddy type. She knew that he would certainly feel some emotional attachment, and was fairly certain that this would probably intensify over time.

She smiled at the mental image of Sherlock holding a toddler in his arms. It was so absurd that she could barely imagine it. Briefly she tried to imagine herself holding a child – a mental image which scared and shocked her almost as much as the former.

And yet, she couldn't fight the growing attachment she already felt with the baby. Sherlock was right; it was instinctive, especially in the mother.

She smiled at the (most likely) hypothetical reactions that Sherlock's friends would have. She doubted that John knew – Sherlock generally avoided telling his flatmate these things. When she had told Sherlock he had been caught completely off guard, so it was natural that he wouldn't talk about the subject with anyone else before he managed to figure it out and make sense of it in his own mind.

John would certainly be shocked, and Irene sincerely hoped she would be able to see his reaction.

Mycroft's reaction was also one she liked to imagine, although she knew that he of all people could never find out about this. He didn't scare her, but he was a threat, and she knew that there probably wasn't anyone else that Sherlock's older brother hated more.

She sighed to herself and closed her eyes, fully intending to stay in her current position, whether it bothered Sherlock or not.

Sherlock also stayed where he was, mostly because he couldn't really get up. A small part of him however, enjoyed the simple comfort of holding Irene, although, as his practical mind would see it, there was so much else he could be doing. He dismissed the thought however, and stayed in his position until his leg started to hurt.

Irene sensed his slight discomfort, and looked up at him, raising her eyebrows and appearing completely innocent.

"Uncomfortable, Mr Holmes?" she asked, her voice slightly flirtatious. Sherlock noticed the tired edge to it though.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Sherlock asked, in a voice that made it perfectly obvious that he was uncomfortable. His leg had gone to sleep.

Irene bit her lip to stop a laugh escaping. He sounded almost like a sulky child. She decided to play along, and simply stayed in her position, until Sherlock started to get irritated.

Well he said irritated. He couldn't really find it in himself to be angry at her at the moment (or ever), so he simply rolled his eyes.

But she stayed put though, until he finally said exasperatedly: "Fine! Do you want me to carry you into the bedroom?"

Irene raised her eyebrows, and tried in vain to stifle a yawn.

"I suppose, being the pregnant one, I should be entitled to that".

Sherlock smiled slightly. The thought of picking Irene up and actually carrying her to bed did flash through his mind, but before irrationality and sentiment got the better of him, Irene got off the chair and went to the bathroom, saying that she was going to take a shower.

Sherlock sighed and flexed his leg, wincing as he felt the burning sensation slowly travel up from his ankle to his knee. In a way he was relieved that he hadn't given into this…_domesticity_.

A tiny part of him felt a small twinge of something almost like regret at not taking advantage of the situation, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head.

He heard the sounds of water coming from the bathroom and got up. He was relieved that he had discussed the issue of staying with Irene, and very grateful that she knew him well enough to not expect him to stay with her. She knew that he wasn't that type, and he couldn't imagine himself staying for nine months, attending ultra sound scans, and dealing with a hormonal Irene.

He shuddered at that thought.

For now however, he was perfectly content to stay for a while.

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**Thank you very much for reading, and please review! I am addicted to reviews :)))))**


	4. Chapter 4

**I am very very sorry for not updating earlier! I have an absolute exam frenzy, but once again I've also been stuck with this chapter. I have the rest of the story all planned out and even have two later chapters already completely written, but unfortunately I have a big blank for this bit. **

**Anyways, thank you for waiting. I am sorry, but this is only a fill in chapter. **

**Enjoy x**

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Sherlock left after another week. He had gotten a call from John, who told him that both Mycroft and Lestrade were asking about why he was absent on one case for so long, and Sherlock knew that he had only few more days left before Mycroft made his own, _thorough_ enquiries.

His farewell with Irene wasn't overly emotional, or at least they both did their best to make sure that they stayed neutral. It was an effective coping mechanism for them.

If Irene was honest though, then she had to admit to herself that she really didn't want him to leave. Being pregnant didn't necessarily scare her, but Sherlock had been a good person to lean on in the last few weeks. He was always there for her when she needed him, and she knew that the months without him would be harder than the preceding ones.

She was pleased however, at the fact that he did show attachment to her and the baby. Not a lot, of course, because essentially Sherlock was still Sherlock and nothing could possibly ever change that. But there were small differences that she noticed. The way that he would immediately be there to assist her if she was carrying something heavy, the way he would stare at her for longer periods of time, taking her in, and the way he touched her. He still held back a bit, and to an outsider the difference between the amount of physical contact would have been hard to observe. Irene however, realised that his touches lasted a second longer, and that they were more frequent.

Sherlock was also sad to leave. Having this certain..._domesticity_ in life was completely new to him, and if he was honest, life was so much more practical and easy without it. But his life was now coloured with sentiment and emotion, and he couldn't really find it in himself to be overly practical.

At least not where Irene and the baby were concerned.

Although the fact that he knew that hormones were really starting to kick in with Irene made him almost run towards the plane, he was also going to miss her. He had promised to visit again in the next few months, and if he didn't manage the birth, then he would certainly be there after that.

During the flight, he thought about how to approach the subject with John. Unlike conversations with Irene, conversations with his flatmate were usually rather predictable.

He wasn't sure if it was even necessary to tell John about Irene's pregnancy _now_. He didn't feel like answering all of John's tedious questions, nor being made fun of, or having to explain things. John would probably ask him all sorts of sentimental questions, and Sherlock was not in the mood for that. Sentiment was something that he reserved for Irene (and now the baby).

Of course, he would have to explain his frequent visits to New Zealand if he didn't tell John the truth now, and he wasn't necessarily in the mood to make up excuses either.

He decided that he would tell John at some point, probably before the baby was born. He just didn't feel like doing it right now.

It could wait.

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John was pleased to see Sherlock when he was back, as was Mrs Hudson. She had learned from John that Sherlock had finally managed to get himself a girlfriend, and as much as the matter interested her, she decided it was probably best not to pry. She knew Sherlock well, and she knew that he of all people would certainly not discuss his relationship free willingly with her.

John did ask some questions, but those were ones that could very easily be avoided. John, though not satisfied with his answers, chose to let the matter go.

Lestrade was also curious, as was Mycroft, who was perhaps a little more stern than the rest. But Sherlock managed to evade their enquiries too.

Sherlock was scared that John would notice something was up. He was certainly not the most perceptive of people, but there were times when he could read Sherlock like an open book. Sherlock wasn't sure if he was acting differently, and yet he was almost terrified that John would see a faraway expression on his face and sense that there was something that Sherlock was keeping from him.

He realised that he was going have to be more careful, with everything. Skype calls to Irene were almost always made whenever John was away. Sherlock now always wiped his internet history, in case John ever deemed it necessary to look (he had _briefly_ looked up some information about infants, and John had nearly caught him).

Keeping the secret from Mycroft was a lot easier than keeping it from John. Mycroft no longer monitored the flat, and Sherlock barely ever saw him. There were a few occasions when Mycroft dropped by, sometimes bringing a case with him (because it required leg work), and sometimes simply stopping off there to see how Sherlock and John were doing. He never said this outright, and Sherlock never forced him to say it either. But the relationship between the brothers was slightly less tense than it had been a year ago.

Of course, if Mycroft found out about Irene and the baby, then Sherlock had no doubt that the relationship might resemble the one from the years previous. Mycroft would be furious with him.

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Irene talked to Sherlock a lot in the next few months, but she didn't ask him to visit. She knew that Sherlock would need to stay in London so as to protect her, and not because he didn't want to come. Besides, she was managing well on her own (even though there were times where she had to admit that it would have been nice to have a helping hand.)

Her house looked completely different now. One of the extra rooms had become a nursery; there was a stroller in the hall, a child's seat in the living room, and a basket of toys and picture books in the corner of her room.

She was very proud to say that she had managed to arrange all that, though Sherlock had helped with some things.

She wondered when the hell Sherlock was going to tell John about this. John was Sherlock's best friend, the one person he considered as his brother, and he definitely didn't deserve to be kept in the dark about this.

When she was about 7 months along, she decided that it was high time John was informed that Sherlock was going to be a father. John had already received a big shock when he had found out Irene was alive, he didn't need another one when he managed to find out that Sherlock had managed to get himself procreated.

But Sherlock was evasive about the subject, until Irene finally threatened him outright, telling him that if he didn't tell John, she would come over and tell the doctor personally. Although Sherlock had smirked at her plan initially, his expression turned suddenly serious and almost frightened when he realised that she being completely serious and that she would follow through with it.

"Fine" he grudgingly agreed the same sulky expression on his face whenever she beat him at chess or outsmarted him in one of their war of wits. "I suppose I'll just leave my laptop open on a website about children or something like that, so he can figure it out for himself."

Irene rolled her eyes, wondering who would play the mature, grown up figure when the child was born. Judging on their current conversation, it was probably going to have to be her, not Sherlock. Surprisingly, the thought of having to be grown up and mature didn't scare her as much as it should have.

"Have it your way" she told him. "But if he doesn't find out by today - "

"He's staying at Sarah's today – " Sherlock interrupted, a smug look on his face.

"Fine then. Tomorrow – "

"He'll have a hangover. His mind won't be fit to process the information."

Irene sighed exasperatedly. "By the end of this week, then I am telling him personally."

"Maybe it would just be easier to tell him after the baby is born" Sherlock supplied. "Instead of me having to do all the talking, we can just show him the child, and it will be over and done with."

"He's your best friend Sherlock" Irene told him. "He has a right to know."

"Well, you didn't think I had a right to know until 5 months in!" Sherlock said, and for a second he was almost proud that he had finally found an argument he could use. Until he saw the slight expression of hurt flit across her face.

She didn't say anything, and for a second neither did he. But somehow the one word, the word he used only with her made its way to his lips.

"Sorry" he said, and Irene nodded, giving him a gentle, albeit slightly forced smile.

"It's fine" she said, and left it at that. She could have told him that she had had a reason for it, or apologise herself and subject them both to uncomfortable and sulky silence. But it was fine, and she didn't blame Sherlock for reacting the way he did. Although, she realised, she would now bear the reputation of not only being the mature one, but the tactful one as well.

"Just tell John" she told Sherlock with a slight smile before she ended the call.

Sherlock arranged his face into a smile (though his smile came more naturally with Irene) but groaned as she ended the call. He recalled sitting in a similar position two months ago, groaning as he got the news from Irene that she was pregnant, and that he was the father. Now he had to tell John.

Maybe he should just avoid Skype. It certainly seemed the best way to not get into these uncomfortable situations.

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**Thank you for reading! Next chapter should feature John finding out and possibly the birth of Nero! **

**Please review!**

**Laura x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! Thank you very much for your reviews.**

**I apologise for the time it took to update this. I have to warn you that updates might take a little longer, because I haven't got this part of the story planned out at all. I'm just kind of making it up as I go along, though the main bit to the story is planned down to the last detail (or that's what I like to think anyway).**

**Also, writing these bits is hard, because most other authors who include Nero skip to John finding out when Nero is already alive, or have Sherlock find out about the pregnancy when Nero is already born. I'm taking a slightly different route, and I hope you don't mind. The reasons will all make sense in the end.**

**So, without further ado, here is chapter 5!**

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Acting on his promise to Irene, Sherlock decided to let John know Irene was pregnant two days later. He wasn't happy about doing it, and somehow still marvelled at how Irene could possibly exercise this kind of control over him. If Mycroft didn't hate Irene so much, Sherlock knew that he would be extremely impressed. Getting Sherlock to listen to him was something that Mycroft had been attempting to accomplish for many, many years now (pretty much since Sherlock had turned one), and yet he had never fully managed it. But Irene Adler did.

Sherlock was also a little angry at himself for letting Irene wield this control. But Irene knew his weakness. If she came to London, then she was putting herself and their unborn child in danger, and Sherlock definitely didn't want that. In the end effect, telling John himself was a lot simpler and effective, although it would certainly not be a very comfortable experience.

But John did deserve to know.

Even with this resolution, Sherlock still wasn't really sure how he should tell John. He decided to simply go with his original idea, to leave his laptop open on a page about children or something similar to that, and let John figure out the rest for himself. Perhaps he could get Irene to write him and email, and make her (discreetly) put in as many facts as possible, so that John wouldn't feel the need to ask countless questions.

He sighed to himself. John was out, currently doing the shopping, and today was a good day to tell him.

He went over to his laptop, and decided that he might as well be thorough. He opened up a page on infants, a page about pregnancy and his email account, clicking on the email where Irene told him the day she would probably give birth. He smiled in satisfaction. There. Even an average mind like John's wouldn't have much trouble putting two and two together.

He left his laptop open and on the kitchen table, but made sure to activate the screen saver, so that it wouldn't seem too deliberate. Sherlock then carried up John's laptop to John's bedroom, so that the doctor would use his, if necessary.

Satisfied with his job, he picked a random book from his bookshelf (it was about chemistry, which currently suited him) and started reading, his mind processing the information, and deleting the data it deemed to be unnecessary.

John arrived at the flat half an hour later, carrying two heavy bags of shopping. Sherlock barely glanced up from his book. John was used to his behaviour by now, and didn't even roll his eyes when his friend didn't bother to assist him with the shopping.

After he had put everything away, John decided that it was high time to answer his emails (a duty he had neglected for a couple of days, mainly because of his now steadily growing relationship with Sarah).

He looked around, and noted that his laptop wasn't in the living room, although he was pretty sure that it had been there this morning. He sighed. He really didn't feel like mounting another flight of stairs to his bedroom, especially after having dragged up the heavy bags of shopping.

Instead, he turned towards Sherlock.

"Can I use your laptop?"

Sherlock just managed to conceal his smirk. He knew that John would probably find the internet sites eventually, but he certainly hadn't counted on it to be so soon. And yet, this was perfectly convenient.

He nodded, pretending to be immersed in his book. John thought nothing of Sherlock's silence, and sat down at the table, jiggling the mouse to deactivate the screensaver.

There was a moment of silence, and Sherlock almost wished he could see John's facial expression.

And then: "Sherlock?" John asked uncertainly. "Why is there….?" He trailed off, and Sherlock could practically hear John's mind trying to process everything.

John stared at the screen dumbfounded. At first he had simply wanted to cross the pages Sherlock had there, but his eyes automatically read the writing.

_At 22 weeks your baby's senses should be developed, and she or he may start experimenting. Note that if the baby is born now, there is only a small chance of survival, even with medical help…_

_The baby's sweat glands should be fully developed by this time…_

There was a lot more, but by now John as desperately opening Sherlock's other pages, desperate to see what they contained. Part of him wondered whether or not Sherlock needed this information for some sort of case, but as he finally stumbled across an email that Irene had sent Sherlock, he saw that he was wrong.

_Most likely the 25__th__ of May._

_It just occurred to me that we completely forgot about John's earlier name suggestion – Hamish. I would consider that as a middle name, but Nero is much more pleasing, don't you think? _

John's jaw dropped and he blinked furiously. No, no this couldn't be possible.

Except…

Well…It was very possible.

It was fairly logical to assume that Sherlock and Irene had had sex, seeing they were a couple. It was probably the first thing Irene had insisted on.

And John knew that one slip was all it took.

Jesus.

"Sherlock?" he tried again, trying to formulate his question in his mind. Sherlock looked up and raised his eyebrows.

"Are you…is - " John broke off, not entirely sure what to ask. Sherlock was looking at him in a similar way he had once when John was left stuttering in the doorway when he had seen Irene alive and well in the flat. Deciding not to make himself look like an idiot, John tried to straighten the facts out once again in his mind.

Sherlock had been looking at two internet sites about pregnancy. Fine. That could just mean that he was investigating a case, which he needed this information for.

But.

Irene's email. It wouldn't have made much sense, if she hadn't used the name Hamish. John remembered the conversation from so long ago.

"_Hamish. John Hamish Watson…if you're looking for baby names."_

It had been a sarcastic yet innocent statement at the time, and John had no idea that what he had mockingly thought of in his head would become reality.

If she was using the name Hamish, then she was talking about possible names for a child. John doubted Irene was pregnant by someone else other than Sherlock, because their relationship was serious, and she didn't seem like the kind to cheat on him.

If she was talking about a child, it could only be hers. And Sherlock had been looking up pregnancy so…

And if John coupled that with Sherlock's sudden and unannounced trip to New Zealand two months ago…oh God.

He turned around from the screen to face his flat mate, an offended expression on his face.

"Irene's pregnant".

Sherlock said nothing, and simply let the statement hang in the air. John quietly let it sink in, and then cleared his throat.

"How long have you known?"

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. He was pleased that John had figured it out – it saved him a lot of awkwardness. "Only about two months."

John nodded. That explained why Sherlock had suddenly just disappeared for two weeks, and hadn't bothered to mention why.

"Right" John muttered to himself, and cleared his throat again. "Congratulations".

Sherlock looked up again this time, and he wore the expression of a man who didn't know whether or not to be flattered or insulted. John chuckled to himself. He hoped that the baby wouldn't take after Sherlock; otherwise Irene would be trapped in a living hell.

"How far along is Irene?" he asked, purely out of interest. He wanted to know for the approximate time he should brace himself for seeing a baby in the flat.

"7 months" Sherlock answered, his gaze not leaving his book.

John whistled to himself. Wow. He had assumed it to be about 2 or 3 months, but apparently Irene had also had some hesitations about telling Sherlock. John had to admit that he understood her reasons.

That explained the date Irene had mentioned in the email. If she was 7 months along, then she would deliver sometime in May.

He tried to picture the two of them as parents, and quickly decided to spare himself the hardship. He still partly saw Irene as a dominatrix, and thinking of Sherlock as a daddy made him want to laugh. Two years ago, if anyone had told him that he would find himself in this predicament, he would have laughed and called the person crazy.

Now, not so much.

"Okay" John said to himself, taking a deep breath.

He turned back to the laptop and began to check his emails.

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He heard Sherlock skyping with Irene that evening, and decided to say hello. He wasn't going to miss his chance at seeing a pregnant Irene, if only through a webcam.

He walked into the room, and nearly stopped short when he saw just how big she was. Sherlock had told him she was 7 months along…but wow.

She smiled when she saw him. "Hello John" she greeted, and laughed at his expression. "I see that Sherlock finally told you."

John smiled back, but blinked slightly. The whole situation still seemed a little surreal to him, so he just nodded. Irene was wrong, Sherlock hadn't exactly told him, but still. He had gotten the point across.

"I'm sorry about not using the name Hamish for the baby" Irene continued when he didn't say anything. "But somehow it just wouldn't fit."

John laughed this time. "Don't be." He said. " It's an absolutely horrid name."

"There was another thing we wanted to ask you though" Irene began carefully, and cast a stern look at Sherlock, who had been looking at the floor. He sighed and looked at John.

"We were wondering whether you could be godfather?" Irene asked carefully. "Only if you want to of course, but we thought that you might like to be somehow involved."

John looked surprised, but grinned. He hadn't expected this. "Seriously? Me?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as if to say '_well obviously_ you' and Irene nodded, rolling her eyes at Sherlock's behaviour.

"Yeah" John. "Of course."

Irene smiled. "Excellent. Should you change your mind, Sherlock knows how to fake your signature".

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**Thank you for reading. I know that was a weird place to end, and I apologise. **

**I have a question for you? Do you think**

**That Sherlock would fly over for the delivery and then leave a day or so after that?**

**Everything mentioned above, but that Sherlock would stay with Irene for a few weeks, become a more active part of Nero's life and help Irene out?**

**That he wouldn't intially care too much about Nero?**

**Personally, I support the second option, but I would really love to know your thoughts on it. Please tell me in a PM or in a review.**

**Laura xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys, here is chapter 6. Thank you very much to those people who answered the poll question thing at the end of the last chapter, it was very much appreciated. **

**I have to warn you, this chapter is the first to properly feature Nero and Sherlock as a **_**daddy**_**, so this is where the OOCness begins. I've tried to keep Sherlock as much in character as possible, given the sitaution. You may notice a change in Irene, but she has just become a mother, so she is going to be a bit gentler and more considerate. **

**Now, just a note, I am 16, and in no way very experienced with pregnancy or the development of an infant, so if any people who know more about these things notice any mistakes (not just in this chapter, but also in the proceeding ones) I apologise. I've researched the topic as thoroughly as possible, but if you notice that something isn't quite right, please tell me so I can fix it. Thank you!**

**Happy reading!**

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Sherlock talked to Irene regularly in the next month. He tried to appear as indifferent as possible regarding the child. Irene knew he cared for it, to an extent, which was already wondrous given Sherlock's personality, but that he was determined to not let himself get too attached yet.

Irene was thrilled that Sherlock seemed to display at least some affection, but she knew she had to be careful not to expect more from him.

When she was reaching her due date however, Irene knew that she had to ask Sherlock whether or not would help her. She had researched children thoroughly, determined to do her best as a mother. She was scared; because she had been (and still was) very independent and fairly uncaring and detached, determined to always have her own way. In short, not very good mother material.

She had no idea how she could possibly manage on her own, especially for the first few weeks. She knew that babies needed to be fed regularly, every two hours, not to mention burped, bathed and cared for properly and lovingly.

She was scared that she wouldn't be able to keep up.

She knew that she needed Sherlock there, as moral and as practical support. She wouldn't manage everything on her own. But whether or not Sherlock would want to, well that was another question entirely.

A nanny was out of the question. Irene had lived in New Zealand for two years now, but had been careful not to make any very close acquaintances. She had friends, ones who believed they knew her, which was important, should anyone ever come and ask about her identity. But close friends and people she really let into her life – they were dangerous. Should she ever need to disappear, she would have to do it quickly and effectively, and close friends would not help her out in that regard. They would ask unwanted questions and leave behind loose ends.

Having a nanny would mean having someone around constantly, knowing the all the details of her life she preferred to keep hidden.

She decided that she should not let her independence and apprehension get the better of her this time, because it wasn't just her concerned anymore, but her child. Asking Sherlock whether or not he would be a part of the baby's was necessary, even though it probably wouldn't be a comfortable experience.

In the end however, it was Sherlock who did the hard work. He called her one evening, and proceeded to ask her himself.

"If you wanted to come" Irene told him eventually, biting her lip, "You wouldn't just be there for a few days, Sherlock. You would have to be there for at least a few weeks."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "I know".

Irene said nothing, and Sherlock sighed. He wished she could give him a straight answer.

"I would appreciate your help." Irene said finally. "But it's your choice."

She pressed the end button, and Sherlock leaned back in his chair.

"_Your choice"._

That was not what he had wanted to hear. He had wanted Irene to make the decision for him, because that would have made it so much easier. He would have gone because he wanted to help Irene, but now that it was his choice, he had wonder whether or not he was going because of the baby too.

He understood why Irene hadn't said anything though, and knew that he would have done the same thing.

Sherlock pressed his hands together and sat in his usual thinking position, considering what to do. He…cared for this child, to an extent, simply because it was his. A being in the world that had his genes, and would hopefully inherit his intellect.

But he still clung to his earlier reasoning. A baby made him have another pressure point, another person he would fight to save, and another person who he would do anything for.

In short, another weak spot which others could use to target him.

He sat there for a good hour, oblivious to anything else, when he suddenly laughed. He wasn't sure if it was a laugh of acceptance or exasperation, but he saw, very clearly now, that emotionally detaching himself would never ever happen. He was already in too deep.

The attempt was completely and utterly useless.

He picked up his phone with a sigh, thinking of the days when John had still called him emotionless. Those times seemed so far away now.

He sent a simple text to Irene.

_When?_

_SH_

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John had watched Sherlock carefully in the weeks since Irene's phone call, wanting to see what effect fatherhood would have on him. He had missed the gentleness in his eyes when Sherlock had rescued Irene, and was determined to observe any clue that might show that Sherlock would become a father soon.

He found none.

Sherlock seemed as unfazed and unaffected as ever, giving no signs of emotion away. The only thing different was that his silences had gotten longer. There were literally times when he would say nothing for days on end.

He started composing again though, and something that sounded very much like music from a famous nursery rhyme woke John up one morning. He quietly smiled to himself.

Sherlock cared alright, even though he wouldn't let him see it.

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Life went on as usual, with Sherlock solving cases here and there, and being generally moody the rest of the time. Lestrade and Mycroft suspected nothing.

Sherlock had told John that he would probably stay with Irene for a few weeks after the baby was born, and asked him to cover for him. He already had a cover story, Indonesian intelligence had found John's blog, and contacted Sherlock, and because of his recent case solving in South east Asia (in other words his frequent visits to New Zealand to see Irene), they had decided to hire him to help them investigate a group of serial homicides across Indonesia.

It was a case that would keep Sherlock busy for at least two weeks, seeing he would supposedly be covering all of Indonesia. Although the story was slightly far-fetched, it would suffice. Indonesia was generally overlooked by most parts of the world, and even Mycroft couldn't be bothered to look into it.

The text from Irene came in the middle of the night, with her saying that she had gone into labour a week earlier than planned. Sherlock was prepared, suitcase already packed, with a list of flights to New Zealand. In what seemed rather like déjà vu, he scribbled a note to John telling him where he had gone, and took a taxi to the airport.

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Queenstown was about as warm as London, if not possibly warmer, although it was autumn there. Sherlock went to Irene's flat first, to drop off his things, and then straight to the hospital. Irene had left a note on the kitchen table with all the details.

Because Irene had been expecting him, the nurses already knew who he was, and showed him to Irene's room immediately. Sherlock was rather relieved at this. He had been terrified that the nurses would ask what his relationship to Irene was, and he knew that he wouldn't really have an answer to that.

Once he reached Irene's room, he saw that she was asleep, with the baby nowhere to be seen. His heart plummeted slightly, and his heartbeat sped up, suddenly worried that something had happened to their child. A second later common sense set in and Sherlock shook his head, telling himself that if that had been the case, the nurse would have said something.

He sat down in the chair, and tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He couldn't really identify what he felt at the moment, but he knew that the cold self-assurance that had never really failed him before now (the only said times being with Irene) was suddenly gone, and that there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't really identify.

He gave up on thinking about the baby after a while, deciding that if the nurses didn't bring it in after half an hour he would enquire, and instead busied himself with what he knew: observing Irene and deducting what state she was inn from what he could see.

Clearly she was exhausted, and she seemed to be in very deep sleep. He supposed bringing a child into the world did that to someone. She looked rather pale, which suggested that she had been robbed of her strength, and a thin layer of sweat covered her face. Her hair was tied back, and her breathing was deep and slow. She probably wouldn't wake up for some time, unless she was woken up because the baby needed to be fed.

Sherlock suddenly realised that he didn't know the gender of the child (his mind still using the phrase 'the child' or 'the baby', as opposed to 'his child' – it was safer.) Generally he could have brushed a detail like this aside, but not now. Now he sat there, suddenly impatient, almost needing to know whether Irene had given birth to a Nero or a Jasmine.

He sighed to himself, and closed his eyes. He had decided that mental preparation for what was to come was useless and something he shouldn't think about, but suddenly his mind couldn't stay away from the subject. He imagined the scenarios when they brought Nero or Jasmine home, the first night, the first week, the first bath, the crying, and the lack of sleep. He had no experience with these things, and had no idea what to expect.

His thoughts were interrupted by several nurses who came into the room. One was in her early thirties, confident and smiling, who immediately went to him, the other somewhat older, and carrying a bundle of blankets from which Sherlock immediately tried to avert his gaze. And yet, almost instinctively, his eyes drifted towards the bundle of white blankets, and the little head he could see peeking out of it, before he realised what he was doing, blinked, and quickly looked away.

"Mr Sigerson?" the first nurse asked, and it took Sherlock a second to respond. He stood up and nodded.

"Yes" he said, and realised that his voice didn't' have its general confident tone to it.

The nurse smiled. "We've been expecting you. Congratulations. You have a boy."

The annoying fluttering feeling in his stomach resurfaced, and he swallowed. Unable to say anything he simply nodded, firmly telling himself not to look at the child.

The first nurse looked a little discouraged by his lack of enthusiasm, but kept smiling. "Would you like to hold him?" she asked, almost certain that Sherlock would say yes. Sherlock looked almost alarmed and took a step back

He realised that he had absolutely no idea _how_ to hold the child. Somehow, he must have overlooked this in his thorough research. What if he dropped it? He may only have seen its face for a second, but he could tell that it was rather small.

He shook his head again and finally found his voice. "No."

The nurse's smiled suddenly began to look rather strained.

"Right" she said, almost uncertainly. "Well, the nurses just took him to make sure he is alright, and bathe him and so on, so he should sleep now. He's fine." She added quickly, when she saw Sherlock's raised eyebrows, and she softened slightly.

"Miss Baker should wake up within the hour. If you need anything, call us, and we'll be here to assist you immediately."

With that the other nurse set down Nero in his little bed, and quietly stole out of the room, the first nurse taking one last look at Sherlock. The expression on her face said: Oh, he is going to _need_ assistance, alright.

Sherlock watched them leave and then took a hesitant step towards the crib. He had to admit that he was interested. Sudden questions sprang up: What would he look like, which facial features would he inherit, which behavioural patterns? Sherlock knew that he had asked himself these questions before, but now the baby was actually here, a realistic, living thing.

He quietly looked down, and almost smiled. He felt the tickling sensation in his stomach, the feeling was stronger now, but suddenly Sherlock ignored it. He was completely focused on the child lying peacefully in the bed in front of him.

He was _tiny_.

Sherlock had expected it of course, and yet he was full of disbelief at just how small this little person was. Surely most babies were bigger than this?

He examined everything that he could see. Nero was pretty much wrapped up in blankets, but he could see his head and one tiny hand. A tuft of almost fluffy dark hair, perfect eye lids, curved cupid lips, tiny finger nails, soft skin.

He took a deep breath, and stepped closer, his moves perfectly calculated, trying desperately not wake the little boy.

Before it had been one of the simple given facts in his brain, humans created other humans. He had never questioned it before, it seemed normal and not extraordinary at all, but now he was astounded that he had managed to create this little human being. Suddenly, it seemed like the most bizarre and magical thing in the world.

He was roused from his thoughts from a sound behind him: Irene. He was instantly at her bedside, but realised he had no idea what to say.

"Congratulations" he told her at last, something akin to a smile hovering on his lips.

She smiled back, exhaustion clear in her eyes. "Thank you. I'm sorry Sherlock, but he is going to be an only child, because I am _never_ going through labour ever again."

Sherlock chuckled like that. Irene simply studied his face. She was very pleased that he was here, so soon, but she tried to gauge his reaction to Nero from his expression.

He was currently doing the same. Other than exhaustion, there was happiness in her eyes, and something else, something so prominent.

Love.

He saw it now, the gentleness and the doting, the love that shone through her eyes and was present in her expression. He supposed this gentleness in her eyes could only come from giving birth.

"What do you think?" she asked quietly, nodding at the crib Nero was sleeping in. Sherlock did his best to remain expressionless, but Irene could see that something had changed with him.

"Perfectly satisfactory" he said, nodding. Irene stared at him, in experiencing complete shock at his answer while at the same time wanting to laugh.

"_Satisfactory?"_ she almost choked, having wanted to whisper and yell at the same time. "Did you just call our son satisfactory?"

The way she said 'our son' seemed to put things a little into perspective for Sherlock. He allowed himself to smile. "I don't do feelings" he told Irene with a slight smirk, as a way of explanation and apology. Irene sighed.

"He's so tiny, isn't he?" she said in a soft and slightly awed voice, looking at the crib. Anything Sherlock might have wanted to answer was cut off when Nero suddenly woke up and started screaming.

"Tiny and _loud_" Sherlock said, his voice also partially awed, but this time at the amount of sound a child so completely small could make. Irene nearly flinched, and attempted to get up, but was pushed down on the bed by Sherlock.

"You need to rest" he told her, and all but rushed over to the crib. Once there however, he once again realised that he had absolutely no idea what to _do_.

"Comfort him or something!" Irene said, flinching at the noise. Sherlock looked at her like she was crazy.

"How the hell do you suggest I do that?" he almost cried, looking completely lost. In a moment of sudden clarity he reached over and rang the bell for the nurse.

Until she came all he could do was stare down at Nero, who had opened his eyes and was practically hollering.

Luckily, the nurse came almost straight away, and her calm demeanour seemed to soothe Irene.

"He's hungry" she explained as she picked Nero out of his cot (Sherlock having promptly stepping aside) and handing him to Irene. "He needs to be fed."

Irene nodded and held out her arms for Nero, looking visibly calmer. After she finished (almost half an hour later) she collapsed back on her pillows, still extremely tired, with every intention of going to sleep.

The nurse took this time to approach Sherlock again. "Are you sure you don't want to hold him?" she asked, rather persistently. "I could show you how to burp him too, if you want to learn."

Sherlock bit his lip and looked at Irene. She was watching him and Nero as carefully as she could, but it was clear that she would drop off to sleep off to sleep soon.

Sherlock took a deep breath. If Irene, strong, independent, emotionally detached Irene could accept and love Nero so easily, then Sherlock supposed that he really should get over himself and be able to do the same. If she was able to accept this so completely, then so should he.

He turned back to the nurse and nodded, holding out his arms. The nurse smiled happily at finally convincing him, and carefully gave Nero to him, instructing him how to properly hold him and burp him.

Sherlock half smiled down at the little boy in his arms, who was looking up at him almost curiously.

Maybe dealing with this wouldn't be so hard after all.

Besides, Sherlock thought with a smirk. If Irene continued being this exhausted, then he should really learn how to help out with Nero.

Irene watched the two of them with a smile on her face, falling asleep to the picture of Sherlock gently holding Nero to his chest.

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**Awwww. I still feel all happy inside when I read that chapter.**

**I hope you liked it! :)**

**Please tell me what you thought about Irene and Sherlock's reactions – were they too OOC, or could you imagine this scene happening? I would love to know what you think.**

**I have to admit that I was also a little disappointed with the amount of reviews I got for the last chapter. I know I should be thrilled that I get any, but I ADORE reviews, and they really do fuel my inspiration to write. I won't ask for a specific number of reviews for this chapter, but be warned, if this keeps up, I am going to be cruel and do the same thing I did with **_**At their weakest**_**.**

***evil laugh***

**Thank you! **

**Laura xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm so sorry this took so long. Writing daddy Sherlock was harder than I thought it to be.**

**Anyways, enjoy xx**

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The next few weeks were hell.

Sherlock really couldn't understand how other people did it.

The few days at the hospital had been okay, because it was mostly the nurses looking after Nero. Sherlock had time to talk things over with Irene and to try and mentally prepare himself for the next few weeks.

Evidently, he hadn't prepared himself enough.

Leaving the hospital was okay too, even though Irene suddenly got extremely nervous. The prospect of taking their five day old son home in a car suddenly seemed very daunting and dangerous.

Sherlock was very surprised that Irene had managed to even drive to the hospital herself. It seemed ridiculous now that he thought about it, but he had expected her to either have someone take her there, or use alternative means of transport.

Irene saw Sherlock eyeing her car and raised her eyebrows, already knowing what he was thinking.

"You drove?" he asked her, wondering whether or not to be angry at her that she had potentially endangered herself and their son that way, or to be astounded by her self-control and cleverness.

Irene smirked. "Of course I drove" she said almost sarcastically. "What did you expect me to do while I was in labour, take the bus?"

Sherlock shook his head in bemusement and got into the car, making sure Nero was strapped in properly. Currently, he was driving (he did actually have a license, but he preferred taxis), and Irene was sitting at the back pretty much fussing over Nero. Gone was the calm and collected woman he had once known, instead there was a frantic mother. Having a child could certainly evoke drastic changes in people.

But Sherlock had changed slightly too. He wasn't very used to driving, but knowing that there was a new born in the back seat whose life currently depended on Sherlock's driving skills did nothing to lessen any weight of uncertainty and nervousness.

Rather the opposite.

Luckily, Irene did not live very far away from the hospital, and they got to her house within 15 minutes.

Sherlock and Irene couldn't quite describe the feeling they experienced when they both stood in front of the house with their son. Irene held him in her arms, and Sherlock supported her with one arm around her waist. They both stood quietly for a moment, and even Nero did not spoil the moment by crying.

The absurdity of the situation suddenly got to them, and both Sherlock and Irene suddenly started laughing quietly. If someone had told them when they first met that this would be the product of their then non-existent relationship, they would have called the person crazy.

Probably roused by their laughter, Nero finally started whimpering, which suddenly escalated into a full blown tantrum. Covering his ears, Sherlock led Irene into the house, deciding that if he got back to London without needing hearing aids he might just start to believe in miracles.

Irene sat down straight away, ready to feed Nero, while Sherlock walked around, making sure that they had everything they needed, and ticking everything off a mental checklist in his head.

He heard Irene calling him from the living room, and almost ran over, suddenly anxious.

"I need you to make me a coffee" Irene told him, smiling slightly at how quickly Sherlock had appeared.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in slight amusement. Irene must have been so extremely tired that she had forgotten that she wasn't allowed to drink that particular beverage.

"You're breastfeeding." Sherlock pointed out to her. Irene threw him a questioning look.

"You can't have coffee while you breastfeed Irene" Sherlock reminded her, doing his best to conceal his smile at Irene's utterly shocked face.

"What?" she all but gasped, shocked at the revelation. She must have somehow forgotten about this.

"You cannot drink coffee" Sherlock spelled out for her, and briefly smirked. "Just how thorough were you in your research?"

Irene's eyebrows rose to her hairline and her eyes narrowed. She was in a rather bad mood at the prospect of being deprived of coffee in the following months, especially since she was so exhausted. The last thing she needed now was Sherlock's mockery.

"Are you implying something about my parenting skills? She all but snapped at him, and Sherlock stared at her, taken aback.

How the hell had she gotten to that conclusion?

Sherlock attributed her remark to hormones and exhaustion. He was suddenly scared when it hit him that he would not only have to deal with Nero's behaviour over the next few weeks, but with Irene's as well.

What had he gotten himself into?

He walked over to her, and shook his head in bemusement. Irene was still staring at him with narrowed eyes, and Sherlock had to restrain himself so that he wouldn't laugh at her expression.

"Of course I wasn't implying that" he told her, with a slight eye roll. Irene seemed to accept this without a problem, her sudden mood swing having passed. Instead, she smiled down brightly at her son.

Sherlock just blinked in bemusement.

He left Irene and Nero in the living room, so that the two of them could bond. He knew that it was important that Nero have a stronger bond with Irene than with him, because he wasn't sure how many times he could visit without it becoming suspicious. He didn't really plan on becoming a constant father figure in Nero's life, at least not at the moment. As soon as Nero got old enough to travel it wouldn't be too much of a problem.

However, it seemed that Nero had bonded more with him than with Irene at the hospital. Irene, however determined she was to be a good mother, could not help her exhaustion, and so she had fed him, but it had been Sherlock who burped him, rocked him to sleep and occasionally fed him baby formula when Irene was too tired.

He walked over from the living room and into the kitchen to make lunch.

He sighed to himself. The next few weeks were going to be hard, but he realised that they were going to be completely worth it.

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Nero woke up, screaming, sometime around midnight. Irene groaned, but got up regardless. She had known that she really wasn't mother material, but she hadn't realised how true that statement was until now.

She was exhausted.

She may have read about it and researched everything thoroughly, but she hadn't realised just how much work it all was. Getting practically no sleep throughout the whole night, and not having a screaming fit when Nero wasn't content with something a mere half an hour after she had climbed back into bed, and not throwing something when she saw Sherlock making his coffee in the morning.

It wasn't just the physical aspect of motherhood that overwhelmed her. Until now, she had been very much her own person, only doing what she wanted, and doing anything she did for her own gain instead to help other people. That had changed slightly when Sherlock had saved her in Karachi, and for the time after, but essentially Irene hadn't had to change that much: she had remained independent, determined and had refused to show any sort of devotion to anyone but Sherlock.

But a child was a completely different story. The world no longer revolved around her, but around Nero. She could no longer do as she pleased, instead she had to accustom herself to him – feed him when he was hungry, rock him to sleep, hold him and countless other things.

She couldn't help but think how relaxing her life had been before Nero. And yet, she wouldn't give her son up for the world.

She was now extremely relieved that she had Sherlock to help her. She had to laugh at how foolish she had been, thinking she could manage all this without him. If it wasn't for Sherlock, she would either be in an asylum right now, with Nero being taken away by social services or pretty much dead from exhaustion.

Sherlock helped her a lot. He was a lot more used to not sleeping than she was, plus he was allowed to drink coffee, which meant that he could take over right after she had fed Nero. Generally, she only had to feed him (which sometimes took over half an hour) and then she could try to get her normal one hour of sleep before Nero needed to be fed again.

During this time, Sherlock would take Nero, burp him, change his nappy, and carry him around the house, trying to calm him down. Irene had absolutely no idea how he did it, but somehow, whenever Nero was in his arms, he calmed down amazingly quickly. Irene wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful or jealous.

The truth was that Sherlock did nothing out of the ordinary to calm Nero down. Most of the times he was silent while carrying the little boy, and somehow that would effectively calm Nero down. Other times however, Sherlock decided he might as well practice the facts of the case he was supposedly solving, and went through all of them while with Nero. It seemed to Sherlock at the beginning that Nero actually listened to his deductions, and he took this as a sign of Nero's intelligence. Generally however, Nero fell asleep five minutes after.

Sherlock wasn't sure if he was extremely annoyed at that, because it proved that his son seemed to take more after Irene (who eventually also got bored of his deductions) or grateful, because at least Nero stopped screaming.

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John called a few times during Sherlock's stay. He was very interested to know how he and Irene were getting on.

He nearly laughed out loud when Sherlock picked up the phone. He had never heard his friend sound so extremely _exhausted_.

He asked how things were going, but was disappointed to discover that Sherlock was just as guarded as always, and let no sign of feeling or emotion slip. John wished he could be there with him to see how Sherlock really interacted with his son.

The phone call was interrupted by crying. "I'm sorry John, but I think someone needs me" Sherlock said, his voice monotone and weary with exhaustion. John laughed.

"I think Nero's demanding your attention" he answered with a small smile, privately wondering if Sherlock was going to make it home alive. But the detective shook his head.

"Actually I think it's Irene crying" he said and hung up, leaving John to wonder whether Sherlock had been serious or joking.

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Sherlock stayed with Irene for almost a month, making sure to update his website and describe his current case, in case his dear brother or anyone else decided to see what he was up to.

He kept postponing the day he was due to leave, telling himself continuously that he was only staying to help out Irene (who was very slowly starting to regain some of her strength).

Slowly however, he realised he was staying because he really didn't want to leave.

That shocked him for a moment.

He knew he cared for Irene; that was no longer something he would even attempt to deny. However, staying because he cared for Nero just as much, because he actually liked the feeling of holding his son in his arms was something that almost scared him. He knew that there would be some sort of attachment between the two of them, and he hadn't really attempted to stop it.

Now he realised that it wasn't just the simple attachment he imagined. It was so much more.

He truly cared for his son, to the same extent he cared for Irene. He wanted to stay here with him, watch him grow and change and somehow be able to influence him.

He looked down at Nero then, who he was currently carrying round the house, while Irene was sleeping. Nero was currently grasping his shirt with one hand, curled up against him, with one finger in his mouth and his eyes closed. Sherlock briefly wondered whether or not he should leave at all.

The next day reason set in.

He wanted to stay, even though he truly doubted he would ever get his hearing back if he did. But he wasn't father material. Parenting was not one of his skills.

But what he could do was keep Irene and Nero safe. If he stayed, Mycroft would start enquiring. Although Sherlock did not necessarily consider Mycroft to be a huge threat, he knew that his older brother would not be pleased. (Well, no, that was an understatement. Mycroft would be livid.) Through Mycroft, other people might find out, and that would end in a disaster. If Moriarty found out somehow, they were doomed.

As much as he didn't want to, he would need to leave. He could return as soon as his absence in England wouldn't be considered too suspicious.

Two days after, after kissing Irene and gently running a finger along Nero's cheek, Sherlock returned to England.

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**Thank you very much for reading, and please drop a review!**

**Laura xx**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi, sorry for the wait. **

**I just have to say that I really apologise for this chapter. I have a feeling it's very OOC and I am extremely unsatisfied with it, so I apologise, but after rewriting it for the 3****rd**** time I just gave up.**

**x**

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Sherlock realised that he already missed Irene and his son on the plane.

He sighed to himself, half agitated about the fact. He had never really formed a strong enough attachment with someone to miss them only a few hours after being apart from them, and now there were two people who he wanted to be with.

When he got to Baker Street however (and after having been greeted by Mrs Hudson and John) he stumbled into his bedroom, and realised that his bed had never looked as appealing as it did now.

Without even thinking or caring he took off his suit jacket and shoes, and nestled himself into the soft white sheets, delighting in the total silence. For the first time in his life, his mind was completely and blissfully blank, to the extent where it just completely shut down.

Within seconds, his eyes closed and he was fast asleep.

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John discovered Sherlock in bed about an hour later. He had decided to let Sherlock have some time to himself before approaching him and asking him about his transition into fatherhood, but after he heard no noises coming from the bedroom he got slightly suspicious.

He laughed out loud when he saw Sherlock lying in bed, still fully dressed, realising just what impact parenting had had on him. And this was the detective who barely ever slept because it slowed him down.

John was very tempted to take a photo of the sleeping detective, but decided against it. The photo would only be funny if there was a story to go with it, and John knew that he couldn't possibly tell anyone about Irene and Nero. Even Mrs Hudson was sworn to secrecy.

He shook his head and exited the bedroom, deciding that he might as well let Sherlock rest.

John, had expected for Sherlock to sleep for a few hours, as was normal, but the detective certainly surprised him when he slept for fourteen hours in one go.

He stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, looking groggy and bleary eyed, but more refreshed, and accepted the cup of coffee John gave him. John raised his eyebrows at the detective, expecting good morning or some sort of greeting, but Sherlock merely nodded at him, and nearly fell into his chair, taking a deep breath and staring at his coffee cup, before pushing it away. John's eyes widened. Since when did Sherlock not drink coffee?

"You try drinking 4 cups a day for a month" Sherlock mumbled, when he saw John's shocked expression. John smirked briefly.

"Exhausting, was it?"

"You have no idea" Sherlock almost groaned, and John savoured the moment. Not because he had some sort of sadistic delight in seeing Sherlock completely worn out, but because Sherlock was letting him see his emotions behind the mask. Even with him, the detective was generally very guarded, especially concerning Irene and Nero, but now John was getting a rare glimpse of a side he hadn't really seen before. Almost intrigued, he sat down, deciding he might as well use Sherlock's current state of mind to ask about the recent weeks.

"How is Irene coping?"

Sherlock smirked slightly, though he immediately felt bad with leaving her on her own with a whimpering newborn.

"She's tired".

John sighed, not needing Sherlock to tell him that. As far as he knew, Irene couldn't drink coffee, due to the fact that she was breast feeding, and if Sherlock's state was anything to go by, then she must be absolutely knackered. He briefly wondered whether or not it had been a good idea for Sherlock to leave her all on her own, but knowing the pair, they had probably discussed the issue at length.

Sherlock tentatively took a sip of coffee, and straightened up slightly. John took this as a sign that Sherlock's mental state was slowly getting more stable.

Sure enough, as soon as John endeavoured to ask the next question, Sherlock got up, and ignoring him, walked into his bedroom, completely oblivious to everything and everyone. John sighed. It had been nice getting to see this side of Sherlock, even though it had lasted less than two minutes.

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Life went on.

Lestrade kept bringing cases, and Sherlock got more bored with every single one. Mycroft kept on being intrusive at times, Molly oblivious and Sally Donovan annoying.

Sherlock's mind often drifted to Irene and Nero, sometimes wistfully, though that didn't happen all too often. He missed Irene and his son, obviously, and he cared for them, but when Irene wasn't there and his son wasn't in his arms or somewhere in close proximity, Sherlock got distracted with other things.

He never talked to John about Nero, though he did show him the pictures that Irene sent occasionally. John smiled at exclaimed at the cuteness of his features, while Sherlock's face stayed as impassive as possible.

As soon as John would leave the room however, his features would soften very slightly, and he would stare at the picture with a small smile, before turning the laptop off and putting three nicotine patches on his arms.

It wasn't that he had forgotten to care for his son, not at all, but he wanted to keep some sort of barrier in place. When he was in New Zealand, he could forget the world around him, forget about Lestrade and Mycroft and John and case solving and keeping emotional distance. He could let his guard down, be affectionate with Irene and gentle with Nero, but when he was away from them , he needed to stay objective and detached.

In a way he almost liked it, this ability to once again think clearly.

Perhaps that was the reason he had not visited Irene and Nero in almost 5 months.

He skyped with Irene at least twice a month, and she sent him pictures of Nero and, and described their son's progress in detail, but other than that nothing happened. John was almost disappointed, having expected to see a far larger effect on Sherlock.

Even Irene was slowly starting to get frustrated, deciding that she wanted to see Sherlock. She knew he cared, but she was slowly starting to wonder if he was losing interest. She knew that he couldn't possibly be forgetting just what Nero meant to him, but perhaps he was once again attempting to somehow distance himself emotionally. Needless to say, she was not happy with this development, as crossing that particular obstacle had been a hard thing to do for both of them, and she had felt as if they had both managed to accomplish it.

Irene had never been one to sit quietly while something she did not like or approve of was going on, and this case was no exception. She decided that if Sherlock was busy with cases (etc.) then that was fine, but then she might as well go and visit him.

As she had expected, Sherlock was not happy when she told him.

"You can't visit" he told her bluntly, wondering how that idea could possibly have entered her head. Was she crazy?

Irene raised her eyebrows, challenging him. "Any why not?"

Sherlock nearly laughed. "You're supposed to be dead" he informed her, as if he were talking to a child. "We've been over this. It is not safe for you here."

Irene pursed her lips. "What do you suggest I do then, seeing you haven't visited in over for months? Besides, I've visited you in London before, what's the difference?"

"This isn't just about you" Sherlock told her pointedly. "It's about Nero as well. You chose to risk your life by coming here last year, and though I wasn't happy with it, I let you. But now this isn't just about you Irene, you need to remember that."

Irene bit back a remark she had formed in her head, because she honestly didn't want to get in an argument over this with Sherlock. But she was angry. She wasn't used to parenting, and although she knew that Sherlock had a cover to maintain, taking care of a young child on her own was hard. She loved her son more than anything, but she was frustrated with her complete lack of independence.

"You cannot risk our son's life for your own enjoyment Irene. He is our son, and you cannot endanger him this way" Sherlock continued, and his tone was really starting to annoy her. She was glad that he was at least using phrases like 'our son', because she knew that he hadn't moved on, but the way he spoke was really starting to get to her.

He did have a point, and Irene understood his arguments. But how dare he lecture her on what to do, when he hadn't been involved with Nero or helped her in almost half a year? She hadn't expected extreme dedication from him before Nero had been born, but when she had seen the two of them bond after that, she had desperately hoped that Nero would be something to keep Sherlock there, or at least convince him to be more involved.

"I need to go" Sherlock told her, and though his features softened very slightly, the look in his eyes was hard and grim. Irene raised her eyebrows, aware that it was currently night time in London, and wondering whether or not Sherlock had said that just so he could stop this conversation.

She frowned, annoyed, wishing that he would just face up to his feelings for once. Cracking him after Karachi had been hard, but completely worth it. But now, it looked like she would have to face up to the same problem again.

She didn't reply to him, but he saw her anger and annoyance reflected in her face. He felt bad for a second, before he reminded himself that it had been her idea to visit him, and that he had only told her the truth.

She turned Skype off without saying goodbye and Sherlock flinched for a second. She had looked honestly hurt and angry, and he once again felt guilty. She couldn't visit him, but she had been right, he could have visited her, at least for a few days.

But he did have a cover to maintain. He cared about her and Nero, and by visiting them he was only putting them into more danger. If anyone had bothered to notice just how often he had 'cases in Asia' in the last year, then they could possibly make the connection somehow. And if anyone were to trace his exact movements…

He shook his head, and decided that he was right by not visiting. He was only doing this to keep them safe, after all, wasn't he?

He sighed to himself and lay down on his bed, annoyed.

Feeling, sentiment, emotion.

Life was so much easier without them. Now he felt guilty, and he knew that Irene was hurt and angry.

He groaned, and decided he would rather not think of a solution just now.

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Irene too, was very annoyed at the outcome of their conversation, though she did not blame emotion and feeling as much as Sherlock did. She had grown to accept these emotions, and had realised that though life was certainly not easier with them, it was more productive.

She was angry at Sherlock, but she knew that it wasn't really his fault. He had been right after all; she couldn't just go to London whenever she felt like, simply to prove to herself that she could still be independent.

Because that was certainly part of the reason she wanted to visit Sherlock, and it had taken her a while to realise it. Getting Sherlock to bond with his son and simply to see him again was a big part of it, but her character also had something to do with it.

She loved her life, but she realised just how much freedom she had had before. During her time as a dominatrix, she had only ever done what she wanted, not caring, though after Karachi she had had to rein herself in somehow. But she could be independent and spontaneous and daring, always bordering on the edge of danger.

Not anymore.

She was so similar to Sherlock in that respect, needing the rush of adrenaline that only danger could give her. She needed to know that she was still her own person, and that she could decide what she did, and not have to rely on anybody else. All that had changed with Nero.

Irene ended up sleeping on it, and when she woke up she came to a firm conclusion. Yes, she did want to go to London simply to prove her independence to herself again, Sherlock had been right in that respect. But that was not the main reason, and she certainly wasn't selfish enough to risk her and Nero's safety because of that.

She needed to give Nero sometime with his father, and she wanted (almost needed) to see Sherlock too. She missed him, and she wanted him in her life. She didn't necessarily need him in her life constantly (she and Sherlock were too similar for that, and simply living together, actually living together under one roof in a domesticated household, would never work. The two of them were both far too determined, and strong willed for that.) But seeing him every few months was something that she almost needed. And if he wasn't going to visit, then she would have to take the matter into her own hands.

She called Sherlock that evening, deciding that instead of them both behaving stubbornly and childishly, they might as well straighten the matter out.

He looked surprised when she called, and she nearly laughed. Both of them were experts at holding grudges and clearly he had expected this to be a situation that might take some time to resolve. Well, tough.

"I decided that unless you don't visit, I'm going to come and see you" she said, pursing her lips, daring him to challenge her. She knew that she would most likely win this argument.

His eyebrows flew up, and a hint of impatience coloured his tone. "We've been through this. You can't come because – "

"I'm risking my safety." Irene finished for him, nodding. "And Nero's. I know."

Sherlock frowned, not understanding what her point was. Was she simply determined to be stubborn to annoy him, or what was she hoping to achieve? Even after all this time he still couldn't read her.

"But you've avoided visiting Sherlock." She told him pointedly. "What else do expect me to do?"

"It's not safe, for you or Nero. The risk – " he began again, but Irene laughed, and her laugh surprised him.

"What's not safe exactly?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, and Sherlock stared at her, wondering if she was acting this oblivious on purpose. Seeing he wasn't about to form a reply, she continued.

"Mycroft?" she asked, and Sherlock nodded slightly, wondering what she was getting at. "I doubt he would turn on me" Irene continued. "He is concerned about you, but while he despises me, I am sure he wouldn't kill off or report them woman you currently – "

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, while suddenly Irene faltered. "The woman you currently have a son with" she said, and Sherlock exhaled. Both knew what she had come so close to saying and both were relieved that the certain boundary hadn't been crossed.

"Seeing you care for me, I doubt he will do anything drastic." She finished. "Who else is there? Lestrade – I'm sorry Sherlock, but I don't even see how he is a threat, to be quite frank."

"He's a policeman. During your time as a dominatrix, I'm sure you got into the police records somehow Irene" Sherlock bit out. She smirked.

"I'll be disguised" she reminded him, and her features softened slightly.

"Are you sure that my safety is the only concern here?" she added, and Sherlock frowned.

"Opposed to what?"

Irene bit her lip. "I think you're scared" she told him carefully. "You don't want others to see you in a committed relationship. You can admit the fact to yourself, and even to John, but you like pretending that you're still emotionless and detached. You care for me, but you still consider me and Nero to be a huge weakness, and you don't want to make yourself vulnerable. Correct me if I'm wrong, Sherlock, but I personally think that mine and Nero's safety isn't the only reason you don't want me to come to London."

Sherlock flinched slightly; Irene's answer having hit him hard. The main issue was her safety, certainly, but she was right, as always. He hadn't even realised, having done his best to hide that fact from himself as well. But he was still desperate to deny it.

"This is about your safety" he bit back, but Irene could already see that she had won, at least partially. Sherlock still had one more thing he needed to mention.

"Mycroft and Lestrade are minor threats" he said eventually. "But I need to remind you Irene, Moriarty is still here, and by far the most dangerous threat."

Irene nodded, because in this case, Sherlock had a very valid point.

"He hasn't done anything to provoke you for some time though" she answered, but Sherlock shook his head.

"That's all the more reason for him to do something. _Soon_. He's going to grow bored eventually, and I will be the first target."

Irene sighed. "Fine." She admitted. "You choose Sherlock, and I will accept that choice. But if I can't come and visit you, then at least come here." She sighed, gathering up her courage. "I miss you" she told him, and saw him blink at the words, before his features softened considerably and he almost smiled.

"Besides, if I have to deal with one more huge tantrum from Nero on my own, I will get John to drag you over here."

Sherlock finally laughed at that, and Irene sighed, relieved, that the argument was over. Sherlock could decide, but they had both said what had needed to be said.

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Two weeks later, after Sherlock had arranged paperwork, and carefully considered and gone through every single precaution, Irene and Nero were on a plane, heading to Heathrow Airport.

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**Thanks for reading :)**

**Like I said, I really dislike this chapter, but please review. I would love (/need) opinions.**

**Laura xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello! So, I apologise with the time this story took, and promise that after next week (when one of my bigger exam periods is over) the updates will get more frequent. **

**I should actually really be studying now, because I have a maths exam tomorrow (my worst subject, incidentally) and I have absolutely no idea what to do with any of the problems I've been given, but what the hell. Sherlock and Irene are a better way to spend the evening. (And I'm aware that that makes me sound like a totally crazy and antisocial person).**

**Anyways, enjoy! **

**X **

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Something was up.

John wasn't sure what it was exactly, but in the last few days, Sherlock had been acting rather differently. He was haughtier and jumpier than usual, and somehow even more observant, but in the most ordinary situations, simply when he was walking through London. He refused to stay still, and he stared at everyone and everything, analysing and deducting. Unlike usual circumstances however, he didn't voice his deductions, but stayed completely silent. He was also a lot more agitated, and had practically stopped speaking to everyone.

John wasn't really sure what the reason for this behaviour was, but if he had to guess, then he would say that it had something to do with the fight that and Irene might have had about a week ago.

He didn't know much about it, and Sherlock had barely told him anything, but he had left his bedroom door open while he had been skyping with Irene. Both he and she had used rather raised voices, and some parts weren't exactly difficult to overhear.

Ever since that evening, Sherlock had been walking around with a permanent scowl on his face, and John had barely gotten a word out him.

From what he had overheard, John surmised that Irene was getting fed up with the fact that Sherlock hadn't visited her and Nero for almost five months, and she had wanted to come to London instead. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock had told her no.

John understood his answer, because of course Irene had many enemies in London, who all thought she was dead, and it would be a huge risk for her to show up here alive. But she had done it before, and Sherlock hadn't exactly been so strongly opposed to the issue then.

So there was definitely something more to it, and John wasn't sure what. Maybe Sherlock was scared about Nero's safety as well as Irene's, but he so desperately didn't want them in London, then he could fly over and visit them. He hadn't been for quite some time, so if he went away, even for a few days, it wouldn't raise that much suspicion.

John had to admit that the fact that Irene and Sherlock had had a fight unsettled him slightly. They had such similar personalities, and above all, they were both extremely stubborn and determined that they were right, so fights were fairly inevitable and bound to come sooner or later eventually. But the times John had heard Sherlock honestly fight with someone, shout and be aggressive, could be counted one hand. Sherlock just wasn't the type, and John doubted that Irene was either.

Instead they were witty and manipulative and harmed others with mocking words, but these words never had any emotional background to them. This fight however, did.

Neither Sherlock nor Irene was still that skilled with dealing with emotions, and he was scared that this fight might last some time. The hardest thing to do, for them at least, was to admit that they were wrong.

He really hoped it would blow over soon, because he had to admit that Irene had really grown on him and he now liked her a lot. She was much easier to like when she didn't have the whole predatory, flirtatious and sadistic side to her. He would never call her gentle, because she most certainly wasn't, and she would kill him if he ever described her like that to her face, but she was calmer, nicer and more human. Of course, both she and Sherlock were still strange, exotic creatures, almost terrifyingly so, but they seemed to have a humanizing effect on each other.

It was unusual really, how these two people who hated emotions and sentiment, and didn't want to show them in any way could have such an effect on each other.

Besides, John really wasn't sure if he could deal with Sherlock right now, given the horrible mood the consultant detective was in.

Even Mrs Hudson was starting to get worried with Sherlock's behaviour, as well as his longer absences. It had only been a little over a week, but Sherlock was barely ever in Baker Street. He left in the morning, and came back sometime in the evening, never saying a word to anyone about where he had been.

John wasn't really sure what to make of it, and decided that though Irene and Sherlock were both independent and could generally take care of their own issues, in this case, they might just need some sort of guidance.

John wasn't sure just how to sway Sherlock, but he should certainly try to somehow get him to visit Irene. He knew there was a risk in Irene coming here, but not a huge one, and yet Sherlock seemed so against the matter that it might be better not to bring that point up at all.

But he could assure him that he would gladly cover for him, and tell Mycroft whatever lie he wanted, should the elder Holmes care to check up on them.

He let himself into Baker Street, determined to talk to Sherlock, if he was in, at least. He wouldn't really be surprised if the detective was out, doing whatever he had been doing in the last few days.

He opened the door, and stopped short at the sight.

There was a baby in the flat.

A crib was set up in the middle of the floor, right on the plush, red carpet. A tiny little boy was sleeping in it, eyes closed, sucking his thumb contentedly. A large suitcase was some space away, half opened, and a grey coat had been folded over the chair.

John's mouth formed a silent O, before he surveyed the room again, and finally noticed Irene's presence.

"Okay" he said quietly to himself, wondering at the turn of events. Irene smiled at him, almost glowing. She looked tired, but very healthy, and there was a different quality about her, a new gentleness in her eyes. John didn't think he had ever seen her look so radiant. Her outer appearance was the same, and yet he would never recognise her as the dominatrix she had been two years ago.

"Hello John" she said brightly, but quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping infant. John smiled, still looking slightly confused and stunned, but happy.

Sherlock entered the room then, apparently having come from putting some of Irene's things away. John looked at him curiously, albeit nervously, to see how he was taking Irene's sudden arrival. He had expected anger and frustration, but Sherlock's expression almost mirrored Irene's. His face was smooth as always, but a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his expression seemed to have softened considerably.

"John" he said simply but warmly, and John gaped. From what he had heard and seen in the last week, Sherlock had been angry about Irene's request to visit, and had had a pretty big fight with her about it, absolutely not letting her visit him. But now here she was, and from the size of her suitcase, it looked like she would be staying here for quite some time.

"This is a…surprise" John said finally, having regained his power of speech. Irene laughed.

"You must have known I was going to visit sometime, John" she said with raised eyebrows, while Sherlock chuckled slightly. John turned on him, completely shocked with the change of behaviour in his best friend.

"I thought you had a huge fight" he said, pointing an accusing finger at the two of them, and Sherlock raised one eyebrow delicately.

"You do seem to love being dramatic John" he said dryly. "It was more of a slight disagreement."

"Right, and that's why you've been acting completely anti-social for over a week." John filled in for him, slightly sarcastically. Irene looked at the two of them, an amused expression on her face.

Sherlock frowned slightly, considering is behaviour in the passing days, and realised that he had probably been slightly uncommunicative. But he had had a lot on his mind and a lot of things he had needed to do to ensure that Irene would stay safe while she was in London. Besides, he had warned John that when he was busy he didn't talk, sometimes for days on end, if he recalled his exact words from so long ago, so the ex-army doctor really shouldn't have been too surprised.

"I may have been slightly more subdued, but I wouldn't go to such extreme lengths to describe my behaviour" he said with a slight smirk.

"I was busy" he added, when he still saw John's doubtful face. John frowned.

"Busy with what?"

"Arranging Irene and Nero's arrival and ensuring their safety" he said, as if the statement was completely obvious, which it kind of was, John realised, now that he put two and two together.

"We did have a bit of a dispute" Irene interrupted, seeing that John was still rather nonplussed. "I assume you overheard the first part of our argument, given how surprised you are about my being here. But we resolved it the next day, and Sherlock's been preparing for my arrival for the last week and a half."

John's eyes widened. _A week and a half?_

"Seriously, do you just get enjoyment in keeping me in the dark all the time?" he asked, glaring at the detective, who merely smirked at him.

"You know now, don't you?" he answered lightly, and John sighed, amused and frustrated with his best friend's behaviour at the same time.

Now that the big part of the conversation was over, John let his eyes wander to the small, sleeping child in the crib. He had seen pictures of Nero before, of course, but to see his godson in the living room, breathing and so alive, was a bit of a shock. The whole situation Irene and Sherlock were in was still crazy and preposterous to John, and seeing Nero there simply added to that.

He examined the small child. He didn't know which personality traits Nero would inherit (and part of him hoped for Irene's sake that it would be hers instead of Sherlock's) but he could already see that the little boy looked extremely like his father. His eyes were closed, but Nero had a tuft of darkening, curly hair growing on his head. John was aware that it would still take some time for the hair to darken, but he already recognised Sherlock's locks. His cheekbones too, were clearly something he had inherited from his father. He was asleep so his eyes were closed, but John already suspected that his eyes would be blue grey, instead of Irene's brighter blue colour.

John smiled down at the child in front of him, still awed by its existence.

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Nero slept for another hour. Irene had stayed with John and Sherlock a bit, talking conversationally, while John asked lots of questions, and Sherlock just sat silently. It was clear that Sherlock was still slightly worried about what could happen to Irene if she was recognised, but he was also very glad to see her and Nero. Every few minutes his eyes would drift to the crib, making sure the infant was okay. John had to admit he felt rather touched by it all.

After that Irene had gone to have a shower and was currently in Sherlock's bedroom getting changed. She and Sherlock had decided that she should dye her hair red, even though she had two wigs, just in case. Hair colouring wouldn't do much, but it was still something.

Sherlock was washing his hands in the bathroom, having helped Irene with the hair dye (John had to admit he would never have thought Sherlock would help Irene with something as mundane as that, but there you go) and John was left carefully watching Nero.

This was, of course, the precise moment Nero decided to wake up: When both of his parents were not in the room. John saw him open his wide eyes (and his suspicions were confirmed, the shape of his eyes might have been Irene's, but he the colour was definitely Sherlock's) and twist his head around slightly. He stayed calm for a few seconds, twisting his body slightly, before he seemed to notice that there was no one there to lift him out. He opened his mouth and started to whimper slightly, and John walked over to the crib, completely uncertain of what to do.

He realised that while he may have laughed at Sherlock being a parent, he had absolutely no experience with children either. He had no idea what to do as he watched the whimpering boy, but decided to go with instinct. He leant over the crib and smiled slightly.

"Hello" he whispered and immediately felt slightly silly.

Apparently, this had been the wrong thing to do.

Startled by an unfamiliar face towering over him, Nero opened his mouth further and started to cry.

Loudly.

John winced at the noise, taking a step back immediately, but it didn't help at all. Nero kept screaming and sobbing, and he felt horrible. Seeing those wide blue eyes red and teary was something that was so horrible to see. Unfortunately though, he had no idea what to do. He thought of calling for Irene, but decided that to try and scream even louder than Nero was absolutely useless, and besides, Irene would have heard the crying from Sherlock's bedroom.

He was certain that it would be Irene to run over (the fact that she was in the process of getting changed wasn't an issue, since Irene had never been bothered by lack of clothes before) and was shocked when instead he saw Sherlock walking from the bathroom.

He wasn't running, as another father might have been, not wanting to betray too much of his emotions, but he wasn't exactly walking at a comfortable pace either. He went over to the cot on the floor, getting down on his knees so as not to alarm Nero, and showed his son his face for a second, before gently picking him up and rubbing his back soothingly. Nero continued hollering for a few more seconds, and John stared at his flatmate, wondering what the next step of the brilliant plan was.

He winced, because Nero really was loud, but Sherlock remained undisturbed. He continued patting Nero's back, and after half a minute it kicked in, and Nero quietened, one chubby hand going to his face to rub his eyes.

He looked over at John and smirked slightly when he saw his expression. It was a mix of shock (two possibilities: a) seeing him interact with Nero like that or b) the surprise of the fact that a child so little could make so much noise), surprise and perplexion.

"You might want to buy ear plugs" he told John matter-of-factly, as if this happened every day, still remaining completely undisturbed. "And possibly hearing aids as an eventual precaution."

John simply stared, before he recollected himself, turning towards the main door and frowning.

"Considering the noise factor, when exactly do you plan on telling Mrs Hudson, Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?" Sherlock asked distractedly, and then shook himself slightly. "Oh, right. No need, I told her two days ago."

"What?" John asked, suddenly put out.

"Yes. She seemed very excited. I suppose she's knitting hats for Nero as we speak".

John gaped. Why the hell was he always the _last_ to know everything?

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Irene went out that afternoon, needing a bit of time off after five months of dealing with a young infant all on her own. John expected for Sherlock to object to her plan, as walking casually around London hadn't been safe for her last year and it certainly wasn't safe for her now, but instead, the detective smiled at her, and simply told her to be careful.

John and Sherlock stayed with Nero. Sherlock was trying to solve a small case that had come up and was sitting in his chair, with his notebook in his lap, thinking, while John watched Nero. The little boy had eyed him somewhat sceptically at first, but seemed to have recovered from before, and was now happy giggling while lying on the floor.

John noticed that Nero clearly seemed to have inherited the happy and energetic side of Irene's personality, instead of Sherlock's more sullen and moody side. He was a very sociable little boy.

Sherlock was lost in his own thoughts, and let John and Nero bond, but occasionally he would look at the two of them playing on the floor and smile.

Mrs Hudson came up after a while, and happily informed Sherlock that she was, in fact, knitting a hat for the little boy. Sherlock just smirked.

Mrs Hudson was clearly completely enraptured with Nero, and she seemed thrilled to have a mini Sherlock running around the place.

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That night, John went out for a date with Sarah (and he had to admit that he was almost reluctant to leave 221B) but he knew that Irene and Sherlock needed a bit of time to themselves.

Sherlock that night was utterly distracted with Irene and Nero. He and Irene talked a lot, as she was informing him of every little thing he had missed, while he was filling her on his life in London.

Sherlock's phone was buried deep inside his jacket pocket, which lay forgotten, slung carelessly over a chair in his bedroom. Over all the talking, neither heard the tone beep, signalling that Sherlock had gotten a new text, once, twice and then three times, before the noise finally stopped.

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**Texts. Always sinister :))**

**Hope you enjoyed, and please do tell me your thoughts! I'd love to hear from you :)**

**Laura xx**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello! Thank you very much to those of you who took the time to review.**

**So, we finally reach the point where this story is heading and are nearing the end of act two.**

**Enjoy!**

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Slowly time passed, minutes melted into hours and hours melted into days.

Irene and Nero had been in London for four days now, and John had to admit that he really enjoyed the atmosphere in 221B. Like the last time Irene had been with them, Sherlock grew slightly gentler and was more considerate of those around him, something John definitely couldn't complain about.

However, before, when John had been in Sherlock's and Irene's presence, the two of them had either been flirting (though Irene had been doing the most of that, Sherlock had simply rolled his eyes and occasionally dropped a saucy comment) or had been trying to best each other.

Either they would play games like chess and the respective loser (generally Sherlock) would sulk, or they would have a war of wits which generally ended in an argument. Not the bad kind, obviously, but the tension between those two had been so high that John had always felt the urgent need to get out of the flat, not only to make sure that other people were still living ordinary lives and that some sense of normality existed in the world, but also because he felt almost terrified when he was caught between one of their arguments.

Of course, Irene and Sherlock also had the talent to promptly alienate every other person in the room, and John had always felt very much like the third wheel.

That feeling hadn't gone away completely, of course, and it definitely never would, but it had eased. Because of Nero, Sherlock and Irene seemed to have lost the ever urgent need to always win and completely outwit each other, and instead seemed more focused on working as a team.

And they made a brilliant team. While people with the same personality traits often got into a fight, Irene understood emotions better than Sherlock did, and so provided the missing part to their relationship. When Irene wasn't around, John could act as Sherlock's moral compass, but Irene was capable of that too.

Of course, John was still different from Irene in that certain respect though, because Irene's mind functioned similarly to Sherlock's in most ways, while John completely differently. Irene and Sherlock were exotic and strange creatures, with their icy blue eyes, dark hair, high cheekbones and massive intellect. Both of them could still be amoral at times, and manipulative, and haughty; in short, all the things John was not.

But Irene and Sherlock completed each other. They could communicate simply with stares and with simplest signs, and once they realised that they were both evenly matched, they worked remarkably well together.

Parenting was hard, John knew, and he couldn't really believe that these were the same people they had been two years ago, possibly even one year ago. It was so amazing, how much they had changed, but only in certain respects. Sherlock seemed to still struggle occasionally between the professional part of his work and the sentimental factor of his life, while Irene had less problems. She was still fiercely independent, but devoted to Sherlock, and not because she was forced, but by her own choosing.

John had to admit that Irene really had taken to motherhood brilliantly, and he marvelled at how she was completely different and yet her essential characteristic traits were still the same. Sherlock too, was a lot more affectionate with Irene and Nero around, and yet he still didn't get overly sappy but managed to act detached.

The ex-army doctor really hoped that Irene and Nero would stay for at least another week, if not longer.

If he had known what was to come, he would have sent them back to New Zealand that very second.

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Distracted by Irene's and Nero's arrival, Sherlock stayed with them in the flat for a few days. He didn't go and bug Lestrade for cases at Scotland Yard, nor did he show up at Bart's to conduct endless experiments and take home severed body parts.

He would never call his current behaviour lazy, because he certainly had enough to do. Nero had grown, and was a little quieter when it came to tantrums, but he was starting to be able to make sounds. Sherlock, who had been quite silent as a baby, worrying both his parents and his nannies, clearly saw that the talkative side came from Irene. Nero seemed to delight in his ability to make sounds and attempted to identify everything he saw.

Irene was thrilled of course, because he was starting to show progress generally made by a six month old, rather than a five month old. Sherlock smirked smugly at this development, though there were times that part of him wished that Nero would have inherited his personality more, at least in this situation.

However, since Sherlock generally just stayed at the flat all day, he avoided most kinds of communication. His phone was somewhere on the cluttered desk, and the battery was probably already dead, since he hadn't bothered to charge it.

That day, Mrs Hudson (who adored both Nero and Irene to bits) had taken the little boy out for a walk in the park, sternly telling Sherlock that infants shouldn't be kept in confined spaces all the time and that he needed fresh air. Apparently, simply opening the window wasn't enough.

Nero had reacted well to Mrs Hudson to, and was never shy or reserved around her. He was also very much at ease with Sherlock and had a strong bond with him, which rather surprised the detective, seeing he hadn't been around that much. Irene had just smiled happily at seeing Nero and Sherlock interaction. Seeing him try to keep Nero amused by explaining the system of crime and deduction to him with his toy puppets had been particularly funny, and Irene was fairly sure that John had filmed the occasion, and was going to use it to blackmail his flatmate sometime in the future.

Nero would quieten almost immediately when he was in Sherlock's arms, and could even fall asleep when Sherlock carried him around. Irene was thrilled but as surprised with this development as Sherlock was; she had expected Nero to be much more reserved. But apparently the father/son bond between them was extremely strong, and Irene was sure that Sherlock really was secretly pleased with this.

It was only on the day that Mrs Hudson finally took Nero outside for a bit when Sherlock decided he should check if anyone had tried to contact him. As his laptop was easier to find than his phone, he checked his website first, but found nothing new (and for the first time, this did not bother him one bit). Then he started the search for his phone, simply pushing things off the desk and creating a huge mess, until he found the small device. He plugged it in to charge and turned it on.

His eyebrows rose when he noted the 10 new messages, and wondered from who they could be from. Had there been any missed calls he would have assumed it was Mycroft. He supposed that Molly might have been worried about his sudden absence from the morgue.

He opened the first one and froze.

Desperately, he opened all the others and simply stared for a second, immobile, before, for one tiny second, panic kicked in.

He managed to regain control of himself fairly quickly, but the heavy and sinking feeling in his stomach would not go away. Quickly, he clicked on the first few messages again, trying to find any clues.

_I'm bored. Come and play._

_Jim xxx_

_Really, Sherlock, since when have you started ignoring me? _

_Jim xx_

_COME ON, Sherlock, it's my birthday today! No birthday treats for me?_

_Jim x_

_Clearly, the kisses seem to repel you…_

_Jim_

_Looks like I'm going to have start our final game anyways then. It's going to come soon Sherlock. _

_Jim :)_

That message had been sent yesterday, another few had been sent today. Moriarty was growing impatient.

Sherlock cursed. _This_ was why he hadn't wanted Irene to come here; _this_ was the precise thing he had warned her about. And stupidly, he had let her come anyway.

And now, just as he had feared, both she and Nero were in huge danger.

He thought of his son suddenly, panic once again coursing through him, and he picked up his phone to call Mrs Hudson, not caring that he had suddenly turned into the overprotective parent.

"Mrs Hudson?" he said, as soon as she picked up her phone, and she heard the fear in his voice.

"Are you and Nero alright?" he asked, biting his lip. She sounded alright, but he had to be absolutely sure.

"We're fine, dear." She replied, sounding slightly confused. "We've just stopped off for lunch."

"You need to get back to Baker Street as soon as possible" Sherlock told her grimly, and then snapped the phone shut. He knew that it would probably take them at least twenty minutes to get back to the flat, if not longer, since they had taken the bus to the park.

But for now they were safe.

That only left one other person.

"_Irene_".

Like Mrs Hudson, she also heard the concealed fear in his voice. She walked over quickly, and stopped when she saw Sherlock's expression. He didn't look scared, but angry and tense, but there fear and panic in his eyes. He didn't say anything, just showed her the phone.

Her eyes widened as she read the texts and the same panic appeared in her eyes. For one second she stopped thinking, and simply stared, before she looked up and her gaze met Sherlock's. There was no accusation in his eyes, but she knew that he was angry with himself, and probably with her as well, for coming here. He had attempted to convince her that it was too dangerous to come here, and Irene realised she should have thought of the risk more.

Suddenly another thought made her panic intensify. "Nero?" she asked Sherlock in an unsteady voice and to her relief he nodded.

"I told Mrs Hudson to come back to Baker Street as soon as possible."

Irene breathed a sigh of relief. "He's safe" she whispered to herself, relaxing slightly.

"But you need to go _now_". Sherlock told her. "Without Nero".

Irene stared at him, almost uncomprehendingly. Was he suggesting that she should just _leave_ her son here, with Sherlock, in London, where Moriarty was?

"John will take him away from here today evening or tomorrow, but you're in much more danger." Sherlock told her, and his voice was suddenly cold. Irene said nothing.

Neither of them heard the stairs creak slightly, as an unwanted visitor came up the stairs.

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**Thanks for reading!**

**I have to admit that I was slightly disappointed with the reviews the last chapter got. I decided to be nice though, and not "blackmail" you into reviewing, so instead I'm just going to beg and grovel on my knees :)**

**I would love to hear from you!**

**Laura x**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you very much for your reviews, they were all very kind, and made me very happy.**

**From this point on, hopefully the updates will be faster (at least the last chapter will be, since it's already written :D )**

**Also, I am sorry if this chapter seems a little different in the writing style. I think that this was actually the first chapter written for this story, **_**long**_** before chapter one was, which is why the style might seem a little bit different.**

**Oh and this chapter is for , as she was the one so very much looking forward to Mycroft's reaction. :)**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

**xxx **

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Mycroft still occasionally felt the need to check on his younger brother and visited 221B every few weeks, or at least got in touch with John (his means slowly starting to get more subtle, much to John's relief). He hadn't been in Baker Street for almost in almost 2 months, and he had decided that it was high time to check up on them.

It had been almost 2 years since the whole affair with Irene Adler. Mycroft barely ever thought about her now, but when he did he was no longer worried about Sherlock. He was now utterly certain that his brother had passed his phase. He knew it was ludicrous for him to still be hurting (this was Sherlock after all), but somehow he still felt concern. By now however, he was confident that Sherlock had completely gotten over his brief …intrigue. John had ascertained that much during their few meetings, though he had been somehow evasive. This didn't surprise Mycroft though; John wasn't as direct about Sherlock anymore. He had stated however, that Sherlock's _fleeting_ feeling was gone. Mycroft was happy about the fact.

Mycroft realised that this was probably the first time that Sherlock had ever come close to actually developing feelings for any woman, the first time he had ever thought of a woman in a way that wasn't accusatory.

It was almost sad to think that the one time he had come so close, he had had his feelings crushed and had allowed himself to be hurt and manipulated by her so easily.

Still, Mycroft couldn't exactly say that he had approved of Irene Adler.

But Sherlock could have any woman he wanted, if he really tried, especially with his looks and intellect (provided he didn't offend them in the first thirty seconds), so Mycroft wasn't too worried. He did doubt however, that Sherlock would ever strike up…_companionship_ with another woman after the encounter with Ms Adler.

Mycroft opened the door to the building and walked up the stairs. They creaked under his weight. He couldn't understand why Sherlock lived in this small, old flat when he had enough money to buy himself a small mansion. (Or at least _mummy_ had enough money, which she would happily give Sherlock if he asked for it.) Mycroft sighed slightly to himself. His brother was simply resentful and stubborn.

He frowned as he neared the door and heard loud noises. One voice he could easily identify as Sherlock's, even if he couldn't distinguish separate words. Sherlock sounded as if he were having an argument, but with whom?

Mycroft stepped a slightly closer to the door, making sure that his Italian shoes didn't creak on the floor boards. He didn't want to be heard.

Now he could hear what Sherlock was saying instead of mere murmurs.

"You have to go _now_" he heard Sherlock say urgently. His little brother's tone made Mycroft stop short. He sounded agitated, which wasn't unusual, but he also sounded scared. Sherlock was always calm and controlled, even when he was inches from death. But now he sounded worried and almost angry.

Was this John he was arguing with? Somehow Mycroft doubted it.

He heard a muffled protest behind the door, and the breath caught in his throat. He couldn't be sure, but is sounded like a _woman's_ voice. But _why_-?

Sherlock's voice cut him off, and Mycroft opened the door quietly, trying to remain unnoticed.

The argument sounded like it was coming from Sherlock's bedroom, but why in the world-

"It's not safe for you now. He wants me, and only me, but if he finds you, it will be like icing on the cake."

Mycroft stood absolutely still, knowing that the slightest movement might cause a disturbance, and he had to find out what the argument was about. He held his breath, needing to know whether it would be a woman who answered.

"Fine" he heard a quiet and resigned voice say. His eyes almost bugged out. It was a woman speaking, and in those two words there was already too much emotion attached for it to be a client of Sherlock's. But then who the hell could it be? If Sherlock would have formed any acquaintance with a woman in the recent months, then Mycroft would know about it.

"And you have to leave now. Alone." he heard his little brother add. "Get out of London, out of the country, back to your house. He won't look for you there. "

There was a brief silence, and Mycroft tensed slightly, awaiting the answer. The voice that replied seemed almost…familiar to him.

"Fine, I'll go now."

Mycroft could almost hear Sherlock sigh in relief.

"But Sherlock, promise me, please promise _me_ that you'll-"

The conversation was cut off suddenly, and Mycroft could hear nothing. Had Sherlock finally discovered his presence?

No, he would have made an appearance by now. He sighed to himself. The only sudden silences (in his mind and indeed in the opinions of most people) were generally when a couple was either killed, or when they …kissed – _no_. Mycroft stopped that though immediately. The thought of Sherlock actually having a physical and romantic relationship (or any relationship at all for that matter) with a woman was absurd and just plain stupid. Not to mention impossible. Mycroft nearly laughed out loud.

The long silence was broken suddenly, by Sherlock. His voice sounded slightly breathless.

"I promise" he said, and the absolute depth and sincerity of his tone shocked Mycroft to no end. "Whatever it takes" Sherlock added in the same tone.

There was a short silence again, but he could hear the mysterious woman moving around the room, and Sherlock's heavy footsteps echoing on the floor.

"Have you finished packing?" he asked after a while, and his tone was now once again slightly more detached.

"I think I left my jacket in the living room" the voice said, and Mycroft barely had time to move before the door opened and a woman with flowing red hair entered. She stopped for a second when she saw him, and he was certain he saw recognition cross her face. She stared at him for a short time and a flash of fear appeared in her eyes, before being replaced by something akin to interest.

Mycroft simply stared at her, doing his best to keep his expression calm and controlled, letting no feeling show.

"Sherlock" the woman called, without taking her eyes off Mycroft. "We have a visitor."

Mycroft heard Sherlock's surprised and slightly irritated '_what_?' and stood up slightly straighter. Sherlock came out wearing his customary suit. His eyes briefly scanned Mycroft, standing there staring at the two of them and doing his best not to look shocked or shaken, before his eyes narrowed slightly and understanding crossed his features.

"Ah" he said. He took in Mycroft's expression with raised eyebrows. "Good afternoon, Mycroft. Miss Baker here was just going. Would you be so kind and hand her the coat hanging there?"

But Mycroft was too busy staring at this Miss Baker, his trained eye taking in her facial features, which seemed to be familiar to him. The square jaw, the high cheekbones, the slightly flirtatious smile, the shape of the eyes and ruby red lips, the highness of the forehead. The voice.

He gasped.

_No_.

No, it couldn't be.

"Sherlock" he said, and his voice was suddenly ice cold, though a little faint. "_Sherlock, what is this_?"

Sherlock looked completely undisturbed at the fact that Irene Adler was standing in his living room. Instead of answering, or even looking at Mycroft, he simply walked over to where his brother was currently standing and picked up and simple grey coat, handing it to her.

She smiled in thanks, and put it on, raising her eyebrows slightly. Sherlock simply shook his head, one corner of his mouth curling up in a smile.

The smile confirmed Mycroft's most feared suspicions. It was such a simple smile, yet the emotion behind it could only mean…Mycroft closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a sudden headache coming on.

"How?" he managed to get out, and was relieved when his voice still sounded firm and cold.

Irene raised her eyebrow and smiled. "I befriended the executioner" she said. "Turns out he had a soft spot for me". Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his expression seemed slightly amused.

Mycroft scoffed at that. "I was thorough" he almost snarled. "Only my brother is capable of fooling me, and seeing he was most certainly –"

"Not on hand?" Sherlock finished for him, smirking. He raised his eyebrows, mirroring Irene's expression.

Mycroft was about to say yes, but suddenly realised just what Sherlock had said, as well as the implications of the statement.

"_You_-" He barely managed to get out, suddenly sounding furious. But Sherlock remained unaffected.

Mycroft closed his eyes, the headache slowly turning into a migraine.

To find out that Irene Adler was alive and that she had tricked him (again) was one thing, but to find out that she had survived because Sherlock had gone and saved her, because of _sentiment_, was another entirely.

This was his fault. He had thrown Sherlock in the way of Irene Adler. And to think that he had been _so_ sure that she was out of their lives.

Irene smiled impishly and tuned to Sherlock. "He is taking it rather well" she murmured, but the remark did not escape Mycroft's ears. Sherlock simply chuckled, while Mycroft gritted his teeth and breathed in and out so that he wouldn't throw some sort of tantrum. Or have an apoplectic fit.

"I'm ready" Irene said after a while, and although she attempted to keep her tone carefree, there was some sadness behind it.

Sherlock nodded. "Please be careful" he said, and his voice suddenly sounded worried again. Irene closed her eyes briefly. "And I promise" Sherlock added hurriedly, knowing what she was about to say.

Irene smiled, but a tear nearly slipped down her cheek. She leant up on her tip toes and whispered in Sherlock's ear, making sure that Mycroft wouldn't be able to hear her. "Just please promise me you won't do anything stupid, Sherlock, please. I'm already leaving him; please don't let Nero become fatherless too."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "I promise" he breathed again, and kissed her quickly, but with passion.

Mycroft felt as if he should look somewhere else, but was utterly unable to tear his eyes away from the sight.

Sherlock was kissing Irene Adler.

They were obviously on a high level of familiarity, the way they spoke and acted around each other, the expression in their eyes and the passion of their kiss suggested extreme intimacy.

A second later, Irene Adler grabbed her suitcase and vanished out the door. Sherlock sighed slightly and moved to the kitchen, picking up a test tube and murmuring something under his breath. Mycroft waited for him to say something, but Sherlock all but ignored his presence.

"_Well_?" he demanded, when Sherlock remained silent. His tone conveyed all the anger and frustration that had building up inside him.

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow. "Well what?" he said, although he knew perfectly well what Mycroft wanted to discuss.

Mycroft felt like exploding, but kept his expression cold. "You know exactly what" he almost snarled. "How did you manage it - did you bribe the executioner? And how long has this been going on?"

Sherlock sighed, looking almost annoyed. "I didn't bribe the executioner" he said, sounding almost offended that Mycroft would think of such a thing. He sighed when his brother didn't catch on. "I _was_ the executioner. As to your other question" he said nonchalantly, ignoring the expression on Mycroft's face, "Almost 2 years….I stopped counting after a while so…" He ignored Mycroft's now positively livid expression.

Mycroft was now in shock.

_Two years._

His little brother had been in a relationship with Irene Adler for two damn years, and he hadn't known about it.

He remembered John saying that Sherlock had gotten over his fleeting feelings for the woman, and he had naturally assumed that Sherlock no longer had any feelings for her. He never would have thought that Sherlock's feelings for her would have intensified to this extent.

He sighed and sat down, watching Sherlock move around the flat, evidently looking for something. Sherlock ignored his presence, and Mycroft wondered whether or not his little brother had forgotten that he was there.

"Are you going to sit there all day?" Sherlock asked after a while, picking up his phone and frowning slightly when he saw that Irene still hadn't texted or called him.

Mycroft took the hint and got up. He looked at Sherlock but had no idea what to say. He was furious that his brother had kept something like this from him, and even angrier that he had let himself be tricked. He wasn't sure whether or not to be pleased for Sherlock – his brother finally seemed to be in a relationship, and could use the knowledge more in his work – but why did it have to be with _this_ woman?

He did realise however that Sherlock had now put himself in a very dangerous position. He had allowed himself to show sentiment and emotion, which made him easy to target. He sighed.

"Mummy will not be pleased" he said as he exited the room.

Sherlock didn't bother replying.

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**Thanks for reading. **

**Well, it seems as if Irene is safe, then. I hope ;)**

**Please do review, I love hearing your thoughts.**

**Laura x**


	12. Chapter 12

**Just warning all of you that there will be a small cliff-hanger at the end of this chapter :)**

**Enjoy!**

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When Mycroft got back to his office he was fuming. Memories of trying to stop Irene Adler from winning surfaced, and Mycroft grimaced as he sat down in his chair.

Two years.

For two years she had been alive and thriving, living in the world undetected.

He remembered all the tedious but necessary steps he had taken in his investigation to make sure she really _had_ been beheaded, and his uncomfortableness at having to (however indirectly) break the news to Sherlock. And all the while his little brother had known that she was actually alive, having ensured her safety.

And now she was back, a domineering presence in Sherlock's life. Sherlock, it seemed, was right back under her spell where she wanted him.

With Irene being back, it raised the question of Moriarty. She had worked for him before, what if she was doing it again?

Mycroft knew that Moriarty was after Sherlock, and that it was only a matter of time before he endangered those close to him. Irene, it seemed, was currently very central to the goings on in John and Sherlock's life, and served the purpose of the surveillance camera. She could be passing all sorts of information along to Moriarty.

Mycroft called Anthea to his office. A couple of years ago, Sherlock and he had had a row about security cameras at 221B and Mycroft had finally decided to take all of the surveillance systems away. Sherlock was right, he was an adult now, and with the help of John he could look after himself. He was still reckless of course, but Mycroft was relying on the army doctor and on Mrs Hudson to keep him in line.

But now, with the threats Moriarty was making, it seemed best to activate surveillance again. Especially now that Irene Adler was also somehow involved.

The cameras and sound systems were already installed, but Mycroft had not activated them yet. He now wondered whether or not he had made a mistake.

It was too late for that now though. The second Anthea appeared, he told her to activate all surveillance systems. She looked surprised, but did not object.

That was all Mycroft could do for now. He leant back in his chair and sighed.

It took him some time to understand that he was rather worried for his little brother. They had grown a little closer after everything that had happened with Ms Adler, because Mycroft felt responsible for the mess she had caused and for pushing Sherlock into her path. He had seen that Sherlock had not recovered well from the jumbo jet fiasco – the signs of a bitter, hurt and manipulated man, seemingly defeated even after he had won, had all been present in Sherlock.

And who knew what Irene Adler was up to this time. Sherlock might have saved her life, but knowing her demanding personality, she would probably see it as repayment for the fact that he had sold her out earlier. In her mind then, she had no debt to repay, and there was nothing to stop her from manipulating Sherlock again.

He leaned back in his chair, wondering what the best course of action now would be. He was very worried about Irene's part in all of this. He knew as well as Sherlock that an encounter with Moriarty was imminent; and that this would be the final act of their deadly game.

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Sherlock groaned as his phone beeped again. He picked it up anyways, and read another one of Moriarty's childish messages. The consulting criminal wanted him to play.

It had been almost two hours since Irene had left. Nero and Mrs Hudson had gotten back an hour ago. Mrs Hudson had decided to have a short rest, while Sherlock took Nero, fed him and burped him, and eventually carried him around the flat until he fell asleep. However, the little boy had had plenty of sleep in the morning and had woken up an hour later, whimpering. Sherlock had read to him until Mrs Hudson came up and asked to take him. She very much adored the little boy.

John had gone out to do some shopping, and right now, Sherlock was alone. Of course, Nero and Mrs Hudson were downstairs, and he could hear their laughter, but he still felt isolated.

He hoped John would be able to take Nero out of the country the next morning, and if that wasn't possible, then he could at least take him somewhere to the country, until Sherlock had a clearer idea of what Moriarty was planning. Mrs Hudson could go too, if she wished, seeing John had little experience with children.

Sherlock sat down in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He didn't know what to do.

It unnerved him that Irene still hadn't called. She had sent him a text, telling him she had a flight and that she was fine, but other than that she mentioned nothing. It surprised him a little that she wasn't already enquiring about Nero, even after being apart from him for only a few hours. Possibly she didn't want to seem too attached, but Sherlock knew that she loved her son very dearly, and thought it was slightly strange that she hadn't asked about him.

He wanted Irene to call though, because he didn't trust a text. He knew that Moriarty didn't know about Irene, but with the way Moriarty was acting, Sherlock was worried.

He wanted to be distracted, he wanted to play, but Sherlock knew that this would be the final game. Moriarty had already let him slip through his hands once; he wasn't going to let it happen again.

Sherlock had promised Irene that he would look after Nero, and that he wouldn't put himself into danger. He wanted very badly to be able to keep that promise.

But Moriarty wanted him, and only him; he didn't know about Nero or Irene yet, which meant that they were safe, for now. But if Moriarty found out, which was more than likely then he would definitely use them against him. And Sherlock knew that that would be his breaking point. These were the two people who he would do absolutely anything for, who he would protect with his life.

Protecting them with his life currently seemed to be his only option.

There was no knowing what Moriarty would do to Irene and Nero. He would be furious to know that Irene was alive and that he had been tricked. He didn't forget about people who left his service. Irene has seemingly died, which was the only excuse. But if he discovered that she was alive and well, thriving even…

This meant that the best course of action would be to find Moriarty himself and finish what the two of them had started.

It would partially break his promise to Irene, but he had also said that he would keep Nero safe, and this was the only way. The possibility that he would die in the process was there, but he could bring down Moriarty too.

He sighed to himself again. That decision would have been so easy a few years ago, when he hadn't let sentiment get the better of him. Before he had let people like Mrs Hudson, John, Lestrade and Irene into his life. Hell, even Mycroft was someone important to Sherlock now.

But what other option was there?

Sherlock got up and put on his coat. He needed to get outside and just think. There was a time when he used to be able to do that in the flat, but now he could see Nero's toys scattered over the floor, John's laptop on the table, and could hear Mrs Hudson's laughter. The flat was too filled with memories and it wasn't a place Sherlock could think clearly.

He left a note for John, telling him that he had gone out for a walk, and went into the hallway. The door to 221A was open and he could see Mrs Hudson and Nero sitting together on the floor. Mrs Hudson was reading a picture book to the little boy, while he giggled and looked at the pictures with interest.

Sherlock observed his son. It was in these moments that he was both glad that he had an emotional bond with him, and furious that he had let it be so. Without sentiment, life was so much easier.

But that couldn't be changed now.

He sighed, and quietly walked away, out the front door and into the cool air.

He tightened his coat around him and felt his gun nudge his hip slightly. He had brought it with him, simply as a form of defence, though he doubted a situation like that would arise. Nevertheless, he felt better when he had his gun with him.

He walked the streets, thinking about his current situation, and not paying a lot of attention to where he was going. He knew London better than any other person, so he couldn't get lost.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't realise the way he was going until he was almost there.

The pool.

The pool where John had appeared all those years ago, strapped to a bomb, courtesy of Moriarty. He hadn't wanted to come here intentionally, but now that he was here he observed the building in thoughtful silence.

He realised that he didn't want to do this.

Of course Moriarty needed to be stopped, but Sherlock didn't want to stop him. Not because of the selfish reason that he wanted the cases that Moriarty provided as a distraction, but because he liked the life he led. Irene, John, Nero, Mrs Hudson – these were people who had a big place in his heart. Others too: Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft. They were all people that mattered, people that Sherlock didn't want to leave behind.

Moriarty needed to be stopped, but Sherlock wished he didn't have to be the one to do it.

There had to be another way.

With this thought in mind, Sherlock decided to go back to Baker Street. It was nearing Nero's bedtime, and Nero would need a parent there, seeing Irene was gone.

Just as he was about to turn around, two things happened at once.

His phone vibrated, signalling a new text.

A red dot appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly trained itself onto Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He pulled out his phone.

_The pool. Come and play. I have a very special surprise for you._

_Jim xxx_

Moriarty.

Sherlock looked down again; the laser dot was still trained on him. Suddenly it disappeared.

Sherlock groaned slightly. He understood the message. Moriarty wanted him to come into the pool, where they could have their final game, and finish everything off. The sniper was there to make sure that Sherlock came, but he was letting him go on his own accord.

Sherlock looked around, but knew there was no way out. If he went away, the sniper would probably fire, and then he would have achieved absolutely nothing. But if he went in, he could still take down Moriarty.

He took a deep breath and entered, one hand in his pocket, holding his gun.

The area was as he remembered it. Dark, slightly eerie and ghostly, with the water lapping gently and the edges of the pool. The main lights were on, but the room was empty. Moriarty had decided not to make an appearance yet then.

Sherlock swallowed. "I'm here" he said loudly, blocking out all images of Irene and Nero from his head. Those would distract him, and he needed to think clearly and objectively. "I thought you would have more of a welcoming party".

He heard Moriarty's laugh come somewhere from the shadows, and turned towards the sound, squinting.

"Don't worry Sherlock" he heard him say. "I've brought along someone very _special_ to see you".

Sherlock frowned, his thoughts flying immediately to John. Clearly, Moriarty wanted to recreate the pool scene from two years ago, and Sherlock was suddenly scared that John would appear in front of him again, strapped to a bomb and completely helpless.

"I'm delighted" Sherlock responded dryly, desperately hoping that John was alright. He looked around carefully, looking for any signs or clues Moriarty might have directed at him, but found none.

"So what do you think of my clever idea?" Moriarty said suddenly, his voice coming from a different place than before. Sherlock turned around, trying to place his position.

"Should I be surprised?" he asked coldly and slightly sarcastically, focusing on the situation. Nero and Irene were forgotten. This was only about him and Moriarty.

Moriarty laughed. "I do hate to repeat myself" he admitted. "But this opportunity was just to fuuun to resist. Especially since I _finally_ found a way to break you."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Who would ever have thought that the detective would fall in loooove" Moriarty teased, and Sherlock suddenly stiffened. _No_…

"I have to admit, I am rather disappointed Sherlock" Moriarty continued. "I thought you were above that. Above that sort of manipulation".

Sherlock frowned. All attempts at blocking out Irene had been for nothing then, because now she was the only thing on his mind. He was terrified that Moriarty had found her.

But Moriarty had said _manipulation_ – what was he suggesting by that?

"To think that one woman could wind you around her little finger so easily, could make you do everything she asked without any questions, and pass it all on to me…when did you get so frightfully _oblivious_?"

Sherlock stared at where Moriarty's voice was coming from, his whole body stiff. Was Moriarty suggesting that Irene had been manipulating him the whole time? No, that wasn't possible.

'_She's done this before'_ a little voice in the back of his head said. Sherlock tried to block it out.

"Are you going to talk to me from the shadows all day?" he called out instead, trying to keep his voice level. Moriarty laughed.

"I suppose we should finally make an appearance then" he said, and Sherlock's eyes grew wide. _We_?

Moriarty stepped out from the shadows, looking as he usually did. Black suit, expensive tie, Italian shoes, hair combed back and a leering grin on his face. But none of that interested Sherlock. He was too busy staring at the woman next to him.

Standing there in a red backless dress, blue eyes sharp and cold, with a leering and mocking expression on her face, leaning onto Moriarty's arm with her hair combed back in the style it had been when he had first met her, was Irene Adler.

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**Oh dear. Poor Sherlock.**

**I hope you enjoyed!**

**Once again, please, please do review. I'm not going to blackmail you (though I suppose I can head in that direction by hinting that there will definitely be more cliff-hangers) but I really would love to hear from you. I know that there are a lot of people that read this story judging by the alerts I get, and I would love to hear your opinions in this.**

**Thanks!**

**Laura x**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much for all your reviews! **

**As a present for you, I've decided to cut the mini cliff-hanger from this chapter :) (Although, judging by the response I got, cliff-hangers are FUN! I have to write more sometime)**

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Sherlock couldn't speak. He was stunned.

He reacted just as he had done when he had heard from Irene that she was pregnant. His eyes widened with absolute shock, his jaw almost dropped, his eyebrows flew up.

He couldn't believe it.

Had she truly been playing all this time? Simply teasing him, manipulating him so that he did everything she asked him to?

He blinked, trying to focus. The woman standing next to Moriarty was Irene Adler, certainly. But she wasn't Irene.

Motherhood had changed Irene, and the gentleness about her was obvious, even to people who barely knew her. She no longer possessed a dominant sadistic streak, nor did she only think about herself when she did something. She was sweeter, gentler; kinder. Still independent and determined obviously, but she cared. She knew emotion and sentiment.

But this Irene, Irene _Adler_, didn't. She stood there, leering, smirking and sneering. There was no warmth in her eyes, no gentleness in her expression. Instead she smiled up at Moriarty, not necessarily in adoration, but there was definitely something.

It made Sherlock want to be sick.

"Well, well, well." Moriarty sighed as he looked at Sherlock, and his dumbstruck expression.

"Looks like we managed to stun the detective" Irene said with a smirk. Her eyes flashed with amusement, _sadistic_ amusement, at seeing him there, staring, not believing.

Moriarty laughed. "But you always had that effect on him, my dear" he told Irene, who simply laughed her tinkling laugh. It didn't sound the same to Sherlock.

"What have you done to her?" he bit out, sounding furious, but scared. Moriarty raised his eyebrows, a mock sad expression on his face.

"Me?" he asked innocently, and laughed lightly. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Tell me, do you remember the good ol' days, when you were still you? Someone untouched by love and emotion, able to resist the advances of a woman who only manipulated you? There was a time when you still had a clear head, but now…look at you."

Sherlock stared, not understanding, or rather, not wanting to understand.

_No. This was not possible._

Irene laughed at him, mocking him, teasing him. "Did you honestly think" she managed between laughter, "that I ever felt anything for you? I dominate people, Mr Holmes. I find out what they like, and give it to them, letting them think they have control over the situation. But all the while I just collect information, and use it to control them. Sometimes they don't even realise I'm doing it!"

Sherlock continued to stare, his mind protesting.

No, this couldn't be. Irene had not been manipulating him, she couldn't have been. He remembered her gentleness after he saved her from Karachi, the first kiss, the first night, and countless nights after that. The way she smiled at him, the way she hugged him, her announcing that she was pregnant. For god's sake, she was the mother of his _child_.

Their relationship had been going on for over _two years_. Irene couldn't have kept up her acting for that long.

Could she?

She was certainly an expert in manipulation, Sherlock thought, he hadn't even realised her effect in him in his living room, all those years ago. There was a significant difference between Irene's behaviour then and her behaviour now, but essentially she was still using the same form of manipulation.

Sherlock kept staring, wondering if, _how_ this could be possible. He had trusted her; he had actually allowed himself to _love_ her.

"She's the best I have" Moriarty announced happily. "No one else who works for me is as capable as she is. To think that she kept up a façade for over two years, without you suspecting anything. I don't even think I could have done it!"

Sherlock examined Moriarty. Objective and clear thought refused to set it, all hints of rationality were gone. He had never been this shocked by something, or so overwhelmed with emotion.

But something Moriarty said had stuck. He had said that Irene had kept up the acting for over two years, but he hadn't mentioned Nero.

Almost as if he didn't know he existed…

Sherlock stared at Irene again, properly, examined every bit of her, his mind trying desperately to make connections that didn't exist.

And then he spotted the little earpiece.

The same one John had had on when Moriarty had kidnapped him.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

He had been blinded by shock and emotion, something Moriarty had counted on. He had failed to see the trace of fear in Irene's eyes, the desperation, and how she stood up straight, her posture stiff and scared.

She had been leaning on Moriarty's arm to make him think she preferred Moriarty, as she had mentioned so long ago. Now Sherlock realised that Moriarty had insisted upon it because he could hold Irene firmly in her place, lest she tried to somehow escape.

Realisation set in.

Moriarty seemed to notice that Sherlock had figured it all out.

Suddenly, and without warning, he grabbed Irene and shoved her roughly towards Sherlock. Sherlock immediately reached out his arms trying to help Irene up, just as a red dot appeared on her chest.

Sherlock froze.

By the look Irene was giving him, he guessed he had at least one sniper trained on him too.

He looked at Irene, searched her eyes for any hint of coldness and mockery he had seen before, but all he found was fear and shame.

She had been forced into this.

"I'm sorry" was all she whispered, before she got up carefully, her dress slightly ripped and wet. Sherlock could only nod.

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A few hours after activating the security systems at 221B, Mycroft was still sitting in his office, thinking. Sherlock hadn't called, and Mycroft hadn't expected him to, but he felt suddenly powerless and oblivious when he thought of the things that Sherlock had managed to keep from him. He sighed and switched on the large flat screen TV in his office. He didn't use it much, but in this case it was necessary. It was divided into several small parts, all showing footage from different CCTV cameras. The main one was currently focused on the entrance to 221B Baker Street.

He watched it carefully, but there was nothing out of the ordinary happening. He sighed again.

There was another security measure he had, and that was a special application on Sherlock's phone. Sherlock didn't know about it, which was just as well, because he would certainly try to remove it if he found out.

It was a GPS system.

A GPS system that would tell Mycroft exactly where Sherlock was at any given time, even when the phone was switched off. Mycroft knew that Sherlock always carried his phone with him, so it was very efficient. The only other option would have been to slip some sort of computer chip on Sherlock, but he would discover that, and he would be furious with Mycroft. Not to mention that that would just be slightly too paranoid.

Mycroft wasn't sure just how long he stared at the CCTV feed, but he was suddenly interrupted when his phone started ringing. Frowning, he dug it out of his pocket and saw that the call was from John. An uneasy feeling suddenly settled in his stomach.

"John?" he asked when he picked up, preparing himself for anything. John never called.

"Mycroft" he heard John's tense voice say at the other end. "I think we may be in trouble."

Mycroft straightened up suddenly. John continued without waiting for an answer.

"It's Sherlock. He left a note saying he's gone out for a walk almost an hour ago, but he didn't say anything to Mrs Hudson. He just disappeared. I've tried calling him, but he's not picking up. I know it might just be Sherlock being Sherlock, but he acted very weirdly this morning."

Mycroft nodded, desperately hoping that this was just a small misunderstanding, and that Sherlock hadn't gone out because he wanted to finally finish things off with Moriarty.

"Is there anything else I should know?" he asked, making sure that his voice didn't show the concern he currently felt.

"Yeah" John said. "His gun is gone."

This was the final confirmation for Mycroft.

"He's been getting all these texts over the last two days" John added when Mycroft didn't say anything. The only person that would have bothered texting him like this instead of calling would be Moriarty."

Mycroft nodded. "I suspected that" he said. "I need you to meet me at Scotland Yard in ten minutes John."

John frowned. Why Scotland Yard?

Regardless of that he nodded, before realising that Mycroft couldn't see him, and ran out to hail a taxi, telling Mrs Hudson and Nero to stay at Baker Street.

In his office, Mycroft also rose to go, grabbing his things, and activating the GPS system. He stared at the location. Sherlock was currently moving around London, but he was very close to the pool where he had met Moriarty for the first time.

Mycroft closed his eyes, a plan already formed in his head. He typed a few simple commands into his laptop, and almost ran out of the door into the waiting car.

Once he was being driven to Scotland Yard, he took out his phone again. "Chief Superintendent" he said, in a no nonsense voice. "I have an important task for you."

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Mycroft walked into Scotland Yard with his usual demeanour; his face was calm and expressionless, his stance tall and proud. He radiated power and control.

He had already spoken to the chief superintendent with John, outlining his plan carefully. The chief superintendent hadn't seemed very happy with Mycroft's suggestions (or rather his orders) but he had had no choice but to agree to them. He knew who Mycroft was and what he was capable of, and knew that his job was on the line should he not do as the politician pleased. John had simply marvelled at how easily Mycroft managed to pull things off.

Now that things had been cleared up with the Superintendent, Mycroft and John were on their way to talk to Lestrade. Mycroft's men had already been alerted, and the plan was almost finished.

Lestrade was waiting for Mycroft in his office, standing beside his desk, looking slightly nervous. He also knew very well who Mycroft Holmes was, though he had never met him personally. However, he had heard accounts from John and very occasionally Sherlock, and knew that the elder Holmes was just as clever as Sherlock – if not possibly more so. Unlike Sherlock however, Mycroft wielded enormous control, and could pretty much do as he pleased.

In short, he was not a man who one would disagree with.

Mycroft eyed Lestrade carefully, evaluating the Detective Inspector. Sherlock spoke highly of him, saying that he was the most competent person at Scotland Yard, but Mycroft knew that although that was very high praise coming from Sherlock, Mycroft wanted to evaluate him carefully first.

Lestrade moved forward almost nervously, straightening his suit.

"Mr Holmes" he said and nodded to John. Mycroft shook his hand briefly.

"Have you been informed of the situation?" he asked brusquely, his features softening very slightly as he thought of his brother. He did actually care about Sherlock, if only in a bitter, annoyed way.

Lestrade nodded. Mycroft's secretary had sent a message detailing what had happened, and that the elder Holmes would be on his way to Scotland Yard.

"I have a plan" Mycroft continued. I have already alerted the Ministry of Defence, their people are ready. All I need now are your officers to control and monitor the situation.

Lestrade nodded.

"Sherlock is currently nearby the pool where he met Moriarty the first time" the elder Holmes continued and saw John shudder very slightly in his peripheral vision. "The Superintendent has agreed to activate all security cameras there for me, and I have had a person link their feed to one of the rooms in the building. I have strong reason to suspect that Moriarty and Sherlock will meet there.

"We need to get to the pools as quickly as possible, and into the room I have arranged to be hooked up to the CCTV."

Lestrade frowned; because although the plan was impressive because of the speed with which the elder Holmes had managed to arrange anything, it wouldn't actually help the younger Holmes brother in any way. Lestrade had learned not to underestimate Moriarty right from the time he had had people kidnapped and killed for his own entertainment, and he knew that although he was fascinated with Sherlock, he might have little hesitation in killing him. He was alarmed that Sherlock was now in the predicament he was in, but how was simply watching the CCTV going to help?

"Excuse me " he began, almost tentatively, but determinedly, not letting (or not attempting to let himself) be intimidated by Mycroft Holmes. "But simply watching CCTV – I don't understand how that will help."

Lestrade swore that, for a second, Mycroft wore the same expression as Sherlock always did: the '_Of course you don't understand, you're stupid after all_' one, but it quickly disappeared.

Mycroft nodded at him. "Moriarty has snipers ready. I had the surrounding area checked, and while they are hidden well, I was thorough enough in my search. There are five of them, all placed in different positions on different buildings around the area. My department has already identified several of them. None of them directly work for Moriarty, but they have all been affiliated with him in the past.

"We need to see the security footage to assess the situation between Sherlock and Moriarty" (and possibly also an unwanted third party going by the name of Ms Adler, Mycroft thought, slightly angrily). He continued at a brisk pace, nodding to Lestrade. "However, that is only a minor part of the plan."

He checked his watch.

"We need to go" he said. "I will inform you about the rest of the plan on the way. However, I need you to take officers with you, as, most likely, by the end of the night; the pool will once again become a crime scene. It would help if you were on hand as quickly as possible. Choose whichever officers in your division you wish, but please do make sure they are at least somewhat competent."

Lestrade nodded. Mycroft was already continuing towards the exit, while John was looking at him expectantly. "Donovan!" he barked out, and continued through the halls, locating officers from his division. Sally appeared last, with Anderson at her side.

"Emergency case" Lestrade said quickly, and then looked at Anderson, frowning. He wasn't actually a part of his division, but seeing that the elder Holmes wanted them there to be at the possible crime scene, they might need someone on forensics.

"The freak's not involved is he?" Sally asked as they hastened out of the building, eyeing John warily. Lestrade took a deep breath to compose himself before he answered. The elder Holmes seemed to be excellent at hiding any feelings he might have behind a mask, just like Sherlock, but Lestrade could tell Mycroft was anxious. Lestrade wasn't as good at hiding or repressing his emotions and the contagious anxiety from Mycroft had now manifested itself into fear and desperation.

He didn't answer Donovan, and simply kept going. There was a second car next to Mycroft's black limousine, and he gestured for his officers to climb into it. He himself was going ahead with Mycroft and John, so that the rest of the plan could be explained to him.

Mycroft only began to speak when the car started moving, and he appeared calmer than he had done before. John, however, still appeared anxious, and he had a good reason to be.

He knew that Mycroft knew about Irene, Sherlock had told him that just after he had returned to the flat but before he had gone shopping. However, the elder Holmes knew nothing of Nero, and John had decided to keep it that way for now. However, what was he supposed to do if the evening ended badly?

Mycroft's speech broke through John's reverie.

"10 of my men are all at the pool already, equipped with the same rifles that Moriarty's snipers are using."

Lestrade exhaled, realising what Mycroft meant.

"You want to replace the Moriarty's snipers with your own."

Mycroft nodded. "My men have been trained for such operations. Sherlock will remain perfectly safe, if everything goes to plan."

But all of them were secretly wondering:

_What if it doesn't?_

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**Thank you very much for reading.**

**Gah! This is so fun. You have no idea for just how LONG these chapters have been written out, and how desperately I've wanted to post them.**

**Please review!**

**Laura x**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi. I am so very sorry for the time this particular chapter took. My school is just finishing, so I've been busy with end of the year related projects. **

**I really want to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter; I was really thrilled by the response I got for that part of the story.**

**I should already warn you that this chapter cuts off very awkwardly, as it was originally supposed to be a lot longer, but I ended up dividing it into two parts. Hopefully I will be able to update the second half soon. It definitely won't take as long as this update took.**

**Oh, and there is a lot of Mycroft in this chapter – a character I find completely impossible to write, so I apologise for any (all) OOCiness. **

**Enjoy! X**

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The cars arrived at the pool discreetly, as Mycroft wasn't sure if Moriarty was already in the building, even though the possibility was probable. The operation was already risky enough; Jim Moriarty was a smart man, and if he detected their presence then it would all have been for nothing.

John and Mycroft got out of the car quietly, while Lestrade desperately made shushing gestures to his own officers, very much hoping that Anderson would not slam the door of the car.

He could tell that his officers were restless; they had never in a situation like this before. Lestrade had explained absolutely nothing to them; they only knew that they had to be quiet. None of them could understand why their boss was being so submissive, nor did they know who the tall stranger in the suit was. What they could tell, however, was that whatever they were doing was risky, but extremely important. And Lestrade was a clever man, so if he was listening to this stranger, he had to have a reason.

Sally and Anderson also stayed quiet, sensing that this was something they had never done before and that it would be best if they didn't object. However, they were fairly sure that the "freak" was somehow involved. John's presence was a fairly strong hint, but even so, Sherlock Holmes was the only person Lestrade would do anything for. Lestrade had just summoned several officers to a barely used pool without any form of explanation, something extremely rare for him.

Nevertheless they followed silently until they came to a small room. Mycroft heard John whistle slightly, while Lestrade raised his eyebrows, impressed.

The room they now found themselves in was small and dingy, but fairly modern. Clearly it had been used as a room to watch the security footage, but even so, the large television screens and up to date technology looked completely out of place. Going by John's surprised expression, Lestrade guessed this was a fairly recent development. Mycroft smiled grimly.

"I had this installed after the last…incident at this pool" he said, and his remark was met with blank stares from everyone except John and Lestrade. John's face darkened very slightly, while Lestrade winced. Sally just raised her eyebrows, growing increasingly more frustrated.

Mycroft then finally turned to the police officers, who were clustered together awkwardly at the other end of the room, clearly unaware of their role in this. Mycroft's face showed no sympathy as he turned to them, it was completely devoid of any kind of emotion.

"We have a potentially dangerous situation to deal with." He said coldly. "I am from the Ministry of Defence, and in charge of this current operation. You are not required to do anything currently, but, in all probability, I will need you at the crime scene at the end of this evening."

"What crime scene?" Someone behind John asked, but Mycroft said nothing, his cold demeanour not shifting at all. Instead he walked over to the monitors and switched on the laptop beside it, typing in a few simple commands. Sally huffed, now annoyed. She didn't know who this man was, and although Lestrade seemed to look up to him with respect (but also with slight intimidation) she was getting fed up. She had been about to go home when she had been ordered to come to the pool, and she was annoyed that she had only received a very vague explanation to what she was doing here.

"We deal with homicide" she said pointedly, ignoring the look Lestrade was giving her. Her eyes went to John briefly, because he hadn't said anything until now, but he was barely looking at her, instead he was focusing on one of the monitor screens.

"I am well aware of that, Sergeant" Mycroft said coolly with a slight frown; already irritated because of his growing anxiety.

"The freak's behind this, isn't he?" Sally asked Lestrade almost angrily, also irritated. "We're in a small, dingy room with nothing to do, all because of him again. I told you already, we're _wasting_ our time. All our time." She heard a few murmurs behind her, but focused on Lestrade.

John finally turned around to look at her, and he now looked angry. Before he could say anything however, Mycroft opened his mouth.

"That is enough!" he hissed. "I would ask you to leave now, if that were currently out of the question. I asked for competent officers, but apparently my demand wasn't quite fulfilled."

Sally sensed that she might have gone too far, but the quip the man had just made about her competence and intelligence made her furious. She felt Anderson put a hand on her shoulder, and she could feel Lestrade's angry gaze, but she couldn't stand losing.

"And who might you be?" she snapped indignantly, wondering at his audacity. As soon as she asked the question, she wished she hadn't. The man had seemed angry before, but now his expression calmed and cooled, and he suddenly looked dangerous. Sally had the urge to take a step back.

"Mycroft Homes" he said, and his voice sounded deadly. Sally's eyes widened. Mycroft _Holmes_.

He smiled grimly as he saw that she had made the connection.

"That's right. The _freak's_ brother." He all but hissed, and Sally heard murmurs behind her again. Everyone else had made the connection too.

"Perhaps you might want to explain" John said from behind Mycroft and Mycroft scrutinised him for a moment, before nodding in acquiescence.

"My brother has currently put himself into a very dangerous position with a man named Moriarty. I'm sure his name is familiar to you. Moriarty is not be underestimated, and whatever he has planned for my brother is dangerous. He has snipers set up around in the surrounding area. My plan is to replace his with my own. All of you are here not only as an extra precaution, but also because this will most likely become a crime scene, as I have already said. Right now, we are waiting for Moriarty and my brother's arrival. All I ask for now is that you stay quiet."

"Mycroft!" John suddenly said urgently, and Mycroft turned around, suddenly focused. Sally looked over to John; clearly he knew Sherlock's brother well, if he was using his first name. Until now, Sally hadn't even known that Sherlock _had_ a brother.

She inched closer to the screen and saw Sherlock enter the building. Mycroft hurriedly switched on another monitor, the largest in the room, and everybody could suddenly see the detective, as he walked to the water's edge. His voice was as clear as day.

"_I thought you would have more of a welcoming party"._

John groaned slightly, and even Lestrade tensed as an amused laugh came somewhere from the shadows. Sally frowned, guessing by everyone's reactions that this was Moriarty.

Anderson stepped forward, next to her, and concentrated on Sherlock, who until now seemed fairly care free and unconcerned. John knew it was all and act, the detective had too much to lose right now.

Moriarty and Sherlock continued with their dialogue, and John could slowly see that Sherlock was getting impatient. The detective wanted to end this, and he was sure of himself that he could, no longer caring about the price. But Moriarty had one final bombshell.

"_Who would ever have thought that the detective would fall in loooove"_

Lestrade heard the sudden murmurs and titters from his officers (all of who knew Sherlock somehow), but for several seconds the words Moriarty had just spoken completely failed to sink in. He could see John suddenly pale, and Mycroft's face grow angry.

Several of the police offers turned towards John, and looked at him curiously, thinking _he_ was the one Moriarty was referring to. John payed no attention to them, instead he turned to Mycroft.

"But Sherlock said she was safe. She was supposed to be out of the country!"

"Clearly my brother has been fooled" Mycroft said, with a touch of bitterness in his voice, but absolutely no sympathy for Irene. John stared at the screen. The evening had just got so much worse.

"Crap" he said in a low voice as he listened to Moriarty's taunting jibes and saw the shock and fear on Sherlock's face. He was slightly comforted by Sherlock's: _"Are you going to talk to me from the shadows all day?" _but that feeling quickly disappeared when Moriarty stepped out with Irene Adler on his arm.

"_Shit_".

The absolute shock on Sherlock's face was there for everyone to see. No one had ever seen the detective look so dumbfounded.

"Who is that woman?" Sally whispered, but everyone, including Lestrade simply shrugged. No one (except John and Mycroft) recognised her.

But judging the way Sherlock was staring at her, he knew her. And she mattered to him.

Lestrade looked at Mycroft, who was staring at the screen angrily.

He had been right all along. Irene Adler had simply been playing Sherlock the whole time, toying carelessly with his affections, and acting as Moriarty's accomplice. If what had passed on the jumbo jet had been enough to drive Sherlock into a moody depression, then what would _this_ do to him?

John watched Moriarty and Irene taunt Sherlock in silence for a moment, until he simply couldn't bear it.

"She has to be faking it" he told Mycroft desperately. "Irene would _never_ do this to him."

"Do what to him?" Mycroft said coldly. "Betray him? Toy with his regard to her; actually make him _fall_ for her? She has already accomplished all of this before, why should she not do it again? How could Sherlock be so _stupid_?"

Lestrade and his officers listened to this exchange quietly, each shocked. They remembered the one woman Sherlock had brought with him on a case once, but even then he had acted fairly coldly. Some people had thought he was in a relationship with John, but even that was already stretching Sherlock's known capacity to care for someone. For him to actually fall for someone in the way Mycroft had just described was unheard of to them.

John shook his head, refusing to believe what Mycroft considered to be the truth. It was impossible.

Mycroft picked up a small radio device and switched a red button.

"Irene Adler has a history of working with Moriarty, John" he told him in an almost pitiful voice, almost as if John was simply to oblivious and stupid to grasp what was going on here. "I don't need to wait to see what happens, I do not trust her. The question now, is what to do with her?"

John suddenly understood what the radio device was for – the only form of communication Mycroft had with his men. He wanted to set his own snipers on her.

"Don't you dare!" John almost yelled. Mycroft raised his eyebrows at him.

John turned back to the screen, and with a sigh Mycroft did the same. They saw the shock on Sherlock's face suddenly change into understanding, and Moriarty's expression change from one of manic smugness and glee into anger. He grabbed Irene and roughly shoved her towards Sherlock, who immediately reached out to catch her, just as red dots appeared on their chests.

Although John had been expecting it, the shock and fear the moment caused eclipsed all feelings of relief he had felt when he had confirmation that Irene had been used by Moriarty.

Moriarty's snipers were ready to fire, and they were now on very dangerous ground.

John tensed as Moriarty opened his mouth to speak his final words to Sherlock and Irene before he killed them.

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**Thank you for reading, and please review!**

**Laura x**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you to everyone for their lovely reviews. I didn't realise that you all perceived the ending of the last chapter to be such a cliff-hanger. **

**Because so many of you asked for the next chapter to be updated as quickly as possible, I wrote this short bit. And, like I said, it's SHORT. VERY short. The next chapter is already completed, as is the one after that (there might be a cliff-hanger or two, ha ha ha :DD ) so updates won't take as long as they did with the previous chapter.**

**Enjoy! X**

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Moriarty raised his chin as he surveyed Sherlock and Irene. Irene looked more pathetic than he had ever seen her: her makeup was smeared, her dress was slightly ripped at the hem and wet, her hair (now coloured brown again) was escaping its bun and she clearly wasn't very comfortable in her red stilettos.

But her eyes burned. Her appearance may have seemed weak but her eyes conveyed her determination. Moriarty knew he could torture her to death, but she would never let him see her utterly defeated. If she would, he wouldn't be so fascinated by her.

The same went for Sherlock. He had seen him be shocked and confused today, but he knew that Sherlock would never allow Moriarty to truly see the extent of his feelings. It made Sherlock so much fun to play with. How far could he push the detective before he broke?

It was with something almost like regret that he had to kill them.

Irene and Sherlock were standing about two feet apart, not daring to move nearer in case one of the snipers fired. Moriarty had them just where he wanted them.

"As charming as this little gathering is" Sherlock said finally as conversationally as he could manage, "I'm assuming you have a reason for _asking_ us to come."

"Always so impatient, dear" Moriarty said, his glance never wavering. "You know, most people tend to beg for time before they die."

"I'm not most people".

"You weren't" Moriarty agreed, with a touch of sadness and disappointment. "You were such a brilliant distraction. But now look at you – you've fallen in love, just like any other normal, _boring_ man. Amusing, isn't it?" he said, noting that both Sherlock and Irene twitched slightly as he said '_love_'. "You're not even denying it."

Sherlock's gaze hardened, but he said nothing. Irene looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but didn't dare to turn around fully, although her breathing pattern quickened slightly. And it had nothing to do with the sniper currently trained on her.

"As for you" Moriarty said in a cooing whisper as he walked over to Irene and brushed her cheek tenderly. She looked repulsed, but didn't move. "My _darling_ femme fatale".

He slapped her suddenly, an angry outburst from a spoilt child. "You escaped me" he roared, but suddenly he was utterly composed, a cold smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I don't like people just leaving me like that" he said smoothly, his finger now tracing the red mark on her cheek. He could almost feel Sherlock seething beside him, and smiled inwardly, knowing that he was cracking the detective's composure, at least a bit.

"I would have appreciated at least one goodbye present, darling" he told her and stepped back, admiring her throbbing cheek.

Irene stayed silent, but the fury in her eyes was sufficient to communicate her thoughts and feelings to him.

"Now, just like dear Sherlock said, I do have a reason for your being here. And seeing both of you are so very clever, I'm sure you've figured it out."

His face fell slightly as he got no response, and he sighed dramatically. The world was so _boring_.

"Why now?" Sherlock finally said in a casual tone, making sure to mask his inner turmoil. "You've had plenty of time, why today?"

"I felt like it" Moriarty said with a shrug, grinning. "Do I detect a trace of regret in your voice Sherlock?"

The detective didn't answer.

"He saved you, didn't he?" Moriarty commented as he walked back to Irene. "In Karachi all those years ago. Arranging things so carefully, so precisely, just to keep you from dying. It's quite touching for someone who never cared for anyone else before…except maybe for that little pet he keeps. But what he feels for you…" he trailed off, circling the two of them, still smirking.

"I saw what effect John had on him. What he would be willing to give up for him. But you" he paused and looked at Irene, almost in admiration. "You can make him do anything. You can make him feel anything. Your actions could tear him apart."

"You really like the sound of your own voice, don't you?" Irene commented coldly. Moriarty laughed slightly.

"You have to admit, my voice is sexy. I love hearing it as much as you do."

Irene simply raised her eyebrows at him, disappointing him by not coming up with some sort of a witty remark.

Moriarty walked to the front of the pool and faced the two of them. Sherlock looked at Irene, his expression mirroring hers. They knew Moriarty was about to come to the point of the evening, and knew that they only had precious seconds left.

"I don't want to kill you" Moriarty said, his tone suddenly hardened and serious, but the twinkling, manic expression still present in his eyes. "You were such fun distractions. Compared to you, the rest of the world is so boring.

"But you're on the side of the angels. Together, you pose a threat." Moriarty clicked his fingers once and suddenly multiple red dots were trained on Irene and Sherlock. Moriarty cocked his head, as if he were a curious child, interested what effect his actions would have. Irene kept staring at him, the flame of determination in her eyes slowly extinguishing. Moriarty smiled when he saw that Irene was starting to lose all confidence, and opened his mouth to say his final sentence.

"You've been fun, while it lasted. But the game is over, dears. It's time for you need to die."

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Mycroft pursed his lips as he watched Moriarty spell out Irene and Sherlock's death sentence. He was waiting for the response from his snipers, but so far none had come. As far as he was aware, Moriarty's snipers were still in control, and if they shot now…

John and Lestrade were also staring at the screen anxiously, knowing what was at stake. John, although and optimist, was slowly preparing himself for the worst. If Mycroft's men didn't disable Moriarty's snipers in the next few seconds, their plan would have failed.

He honestly thought it was the end, and just as he was bracing himself for it, Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

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**Thanks for reading! I warn you now,at least one more minor cliff-hanger to come.**

**Reviews amke me update faster :P (just as a hint, you know...)**

**Laura x**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you to everyone for all their lovely reviews; they were all very much appreciated!**

**Stardust asked nicely for this fanfic to be updated, and since I adore her stories (and desperately need to find out how her cliff-hanger in 'A case of integrity' will resolve itself (if you haven't read that story yet, do so immediately!) I decided I might as well post this chapter. I hope it will fulfil your expectations, at least to some degree. :D**

**Enjoy!**

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Sherlock glanced at Irene.

"Can you give us one moment of privacy?" he asked, his voice shaking very slightly and looked Moriarty straight in the eyes. Moriarty considered him and Irene for a second, and then nodded, something in his eyes softening very slightly, which only increased his manic look. Sherlock knew that Moriarty definitely didn't feel sorry for them, because, while he understood emotion, he wasn't really capable of it. No, most likely he felt sorry for himself, seeing he was about to murder the only two people who had ever kept him entertained.

"Of course".

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. He accepted the situation, but he needed those few seconds to just _think_.

"But if you try anything" Moriarty suddenly warned them, as Irene made to step towards Sherlock, "Then my snipers will fire."

Irene froze, and stayed in her current position.

Sherlock simply gazed straight ahead, waiting for Moriarty to retreat.

Moriarty walked towards the pool exit, the same place he had revealed himself all those years ago, when John had been standing in front of Sherlock, strapped to a bomb. And the same one he had appeared in with Irene today. His Italian shoes rapping against the tiles of the ground and the slight gurgling of the water were the only sounds in the room.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second and attempted to clear his head. Nobody knew he and Irene were here. Mycroft and John had believed that Irene had left the country this morning; John only thought that Sherlock had gone for a walk, and Nero was with Mrs Hudson.

He had known that Moriarty wanted him, and he had decided he might as well indulge the consulting criminal before Moriarty chose to hurt those around him. Sherlock had been terrified that Moriarty would find out about Irene and Nero, and use them against him as well. He knew that by going out he had partially broken his earlier promise to Irene, but he had had to keep her and Nero safe. He hadn't known that Irene had also been captured.

There was nothing he could do.

He opened his eyes and saw that Moriarty had not left the room fully; instead he had walked all the way to the door and stood there, partially out of sight.

Both Sherlock and Irene knew he was still there (they weren't going to try anything anyway) but were thankful that he had at least given them some privacy.

As soon as Sherlock knew where Moriarty was, his eyes went immediately to Irene. She was scared, he could tell, and so was he. For once they were in a powerless position, they could only watch as their world collapsed around them.

But they both accepted that they were going to die, and that made it easier. Fear was calmed by resignation and acceptance.

Irene looked back at him, as if trying to memorise him. Neither of them had wanted it to come to this, and both of them wished that they could have gone on with the somewhat bizarre life they lead.

He looked at Irene, and had no idea what expression was currently on his face. There was another sound in the room now, the sound of their quick, heavy breathing.

"Irene I - " he began, but she simply nodded. She understood.

She turned towards the nearest security cameras. She doubted it was switched on (Moriarty would have taken precautions, but then again he was a criminal who preferred to have a certain risk factor during his 'games'. According to him, the risk made it more fun.)

She closed her eyes briefly, and took a deep breath. "John" she said heavily, into the camera, aware that it was probably all for nothing, but still very determined to simply _try_.

"John, I'm so sorry that it's come to this. Please, promise me that you'll protect him when I'm gone. Please." She glanced towards Sherlock, who was looking at her with a slightly pained expression. He understood what she was doing of course, but for it to work, he couldn't say anything.

"And tell him that I love him" Irene said, looking directly into the camera. She then looked at Sherlock for a split second, so as to maintain the act. Sherlock nodded at her.

He looked at the camera with an intense expression. "Irene is right" he said, and it was the closest he could go to saying what he now desperately wanted to say. He kept looking at the camera, instead trying to convey his thoughts with his expression, and Irene knew that they had achieved everything they could have done.

"Thank you" Irene said again, smiling softly at the camera, a small and barely noticeable tear trailing down her cheek.

Sherlock stared into the camera once more, before turning around to Irene, some sort of heaviness and finality in his expression.

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Mycroft, Lestrade, Sally, Anderson and John stared at the screen with the CCTV footage from the particular camera Irene had looked at, and were trying to figure out what she meant. They had seen and heard Irene's plea to John, and had assumed that Irene knew that she was going to die, but was asking them to take care of Sherlock for her.

They were all slightly puzzled, and they couldn't understand why Irene wasn't admitting what she wanted directly. Mycroft supposed she and Sherlock had some sort of trick up their sleeve, and that only one of them could survive. But Irene's speech was still strange.

She had avoided mentioning any names, and Sherlock, who generally tended to clarify things in situations like this, at least for Mycroft, had stayed completely silent. He looked sad, or as sad as he would ever let anyone see him. He too had stared into the camera, trying to convey some sort of message with his eyes.

But in the middle of the speech, when Sherlock had stayed quiet although the expression in his eyes told everyone that he wanted desperately to say something, John's jaw had dropped.

"Oh my god" he managed quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness.

Nero.

_Of course_ Irene hadn't been talking about Sherlock; she was thinking he was going to die with her.

But Nero was a different matter entirely.

Irene was asking John to take care of Nero, after she and Sherlock died.

And so was Sherlock, although he hadn't said anything. That's what the expression in his eyes meant – Irene had been able to assure her son that she loved him and was sorry about the situation, but to keep up the act Sherlock could only nod and pretend the conversation was partly about him. He couldn't tell his son anything, however much he wished to.

John closed his eyes, feelings of horror and sadness cascading over him.

Poor little Nero. He wasn't even half a year old, and he might already lose both his parents in the never ending war that they were fighting against Moriarty.

Irene had avoided mentioning Nero by name, so that he would be safe. If Moriarty found out that Irene and Sherlock had a child, then he would get Nero too, and there was no knowing what he would do to him. So, to protect her son, Irene made it sound as if she was asking John to protect Sherlock.

John was aware that everyone else in the little room was giving him strange looks, but he dismissed them, his thoughts only on the young family.

"I promise" he said, and was almost afraid that he might start crying. He couldn't believe it had come to this.

He knew Irene couldn't hear him, but he didn't care. It was the least he could do for Sherlock and Irene.

Mycroft frowned at him. "Is there anything you want to tell me John?" he asked, but John shook his head. If the evening went well, Mycroft would probably find out, but it wouldn't be his problem. If the evening ended badly, then Mycroft would certainly deserve to know, but John didn't feel like telling anyone now. Instead, he turned back to the CCTV.

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Sherlock and Irene could hear Moriarty's footsteps again, getting closer and closer. They still refused to look away from each other's faces.

"I'm sorry" Sherlock managed to say, and Irene nodded, fighting tears. She didn't care if Sherlock saw them anymore, but her fear was something she desperately wanted to conceal from Moriarty.

Their breathing intensified, becoming heavy and laboured, both of knowing what was to come. They were doing their best to brace themselves.

Sherlock opened his mouth, taking the last opportunity to say what needed saying before Moriarty was next to them again.

"Irene, I – " He broke off and closed his eyes, not finishing his sentence.

_I love you._

Irene understood.

She knew exactly how that sentence would have ended, and knew that if there was a time to finally acknowledge her feelings for Sherlock then it was now. She nodded.

"I do too."

Sherlock nodded, his face completely serious. He couldn't really believe that now, in this situation of life and death, he and Irene had finally managed to admit their feelings.

Apparently, a situation of mortal peril was what it took.

He and Irene were resigned now. Sherlock fingered the gun in his pocket. He knew he would die if he shot Moriarty, but he was going to die anyway. Both he and Irene knew that a Moriarty free world was a better and safer world for their son to grow up in, and they were prepared to be able to ensure that, whatever the cost.

Moriarty had reached them now, and stood before them, balancing on the balls of his feet, his lips arranged into a pouting expression.

"Has our little couple finally said everything that needed saying?" he asked them in a mock sad voice, a slightly manic gleam in his eyes. Sherlock looked at him with a frown, but said nothing.

Moriarty sighed dramatically. "You used to be so much fun!" he complained, while Sherlock smiled grimly.

"Let me rise to those expectations then" he said and drew out his gun. Moriarty rolled his eyes, but held his hand up, cautioning the snipers not to fire.

"How dull" he told him, doing a near perfect impression of Sherlock's voice, and twirling his own gun in his hand. "I suppose that happens when you go _domestic_ – "

He cut off suddenly, and his eyes widened. Both Sherlock and Irene had multiple snipers trained on them, but one of the dots had just disappeared.

Both Sherlock and Irene frowned, not understanding. Moriarty closed his eyes.

Both Sherlock's and Irene's eyes suddenly grew wide with shock.

A red dot was trained on Moriarty.

Moriarty almost chuckled briefly, and in one swift movement he was holding his own gun to his head.

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John stared at the screen, his nails digging into his skin, and holding his breath. No one in the little room dared to speak, all terrified that it might go horribly wrong after all. Mycroft's men had alerted them that they were now in control, but instead of relief, John had only felt more scared. If this went wrong, he would have to live with the knowledge that they had been so very _close_…

His phone was in his hand, and he was prepared to call Mrs Hudson. If the evening turned out well, then Nero deserved to be here with his parents. But if it didn't… John held his breath.

Mycroft was focusing on the screen, desperately hoping his plan would pay off. He saw the sudden realisation in Moriarty's eyes and was about to speak the command to fire, when Moriarty raised his own gun to his head.

Mycroft's fingers tensed , and he watched as Moriarty slowly pulled the trigger…

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**Okay. I know, I am evil, but I swear that this is the last cliff-hanger! (I think.)**

**Anyways, like I said, I hope I was able to fulfil at least some of your expectations. It was a little tricky to integrate this chapter into bits of the story, because this chapter has been written for ages, like the proceeding one, but the preceding chapter was written very recently. I hope some differences weren't too noticeable.**

**Anyways, I would love to hear what you thought!**

**Laura x**


	17. Chapter 17

**And so here we have it! I can now promise that there will be no more cliff-hangers. **

**(Oh, and just in case anyone is wondering, there is a small but specific reference to 'Him and Her' in this chapter).**

**Enjoy x**

**.**

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The shot fired, and Moriarty fell to the floor, almost as if in slow motion. Sherlock saw that there were no longer snipers fixed on him and Irene and although he had no idea about what had happened, he could clearly see that Moriarty was dead and that the odeal was over. His brain was whirring with possibilities of what had just transpired (he relaised that for an opertaion of this scale, his brother had to be somehow involved), but he was suddenly overcome with such emotion that he no longer cared.

Slowly, people started coming in to the room, running to Moriarty and inspecting his body. Lestrade ran down, closely followed by Sally and Anderson, with the former barking out orders to various people.

Sherlock and Irene noticed none of this. They simply looked at each other, breathing deeply and heavily, barely able to believe what had transpassed in the last 10 minutes. Both of them were staring into each other's eyes, trying to send a message of reassurance. Neither noticed Mycroft, Lestrade, Sally or Anderson come up behind them.

"Sherlock - " Irene said after a while, and that was all he needed. He crossed the distance separating them in one fluid step, and before she knew it, she was in his arms, being hugged so tightly that she could barely breathe. She didn't care. She leant up and kissed him, desperately and hungrily, needing to feel him. Neither he nor she cared that they had an audience.

The three from Scotland Yard simply stared at the two of them, not even attempting to conceal their utter shock and amazement. To see Sherlock love someone so physically and publicly was something utterly new to them.

Mycroft was staring at the two of them with a slightly sour expression on his face. While he was extremely relived that his brother was safe, he couldn't really say that this feeling was mutual for Irene Adler. Even after he had witnessed the farewell between Ms Adler and Sherlock this morning, he had never suspected that Sherlock's feelings were _this_ strong. Nor would he have imagined that Sherlock would ever show his feelings so openly. And yet here he was, holding the ex-dominatrix tightly in his embrace and kissing her with extreme passion. Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed. Sherlock could have had anyone, and yet he had to fall for the presumed dead criminal.

Sally and Anderson simply stared at each other. They had laughed about Sherlock not having any proper feelings for years, and made fun of his total incapability to attract someone for ages, but now he stood before them, kissing a very clever and attractive woman. They had never seen him act like this before, except once with the woman at the morgue.

Lestrade, for his own part, was very happy Sherlock had found someone. He remembered his words from so long ago.

'**Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And someday, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.'**

Lestrade did briefly wonder what had happened to the one woman he thought Sherlock may have had feelings for, the red haired one at the morgue. The one who had helped him out, acting as his assistant. Catherine, yes that was it.

He shrugged, deciding that Sherlock and this woman had a better relationship.

He noticed however, that Sherlock's brother wasn't very happy as he surveyed the scene. There was a crease between his eyes, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking at the woman Sherlock was kissing with a vastly irritated and almost angry expression.

After what seemed like hours Sherlock broke the kiss, but did not bother to break the embrace. He didn't care that he had a huge audience, he didn't care that Anderson and Sally were staring at him as if he were an alien, nor did he care that Mycroft was looking at him with an angry expression.

He heard a cry of a young child and a wave of relief suddenly swept over him, before he chuckled slightly. Mycroft was about to get a huge shock.

Irene had heard the cry too, and was out of Sherlock's arms and looking for the source of the noise before he could blink.

"Is that…" she began, looking at Sherlock with eyes full of hope. Sherlock nodded.

"I don't know how, but it would seem so."

John finally came into the room, followed by Mrs Hudson, who was holding Nero. (John had called her right after Moriarty had pulled the trigger, telling her to get to the pull and bring Nero, and that the scare was over.)

Irene laughed happily suddenly; sounding so extremely relived, and immediately went towards the two of them. Sherlock smiled to himself and followed.

He saw Mycroft's head whip around to Mrs Hudson and slowly open his mouth in question. He hadn't made the connection yet, most likely because he would never have imagined such a scenario.

"Why is there a baby _here_?" Lestrade asked, sounding very confused. He saw that Mrs Hudson was holding it with an affectionate smile on her face, so he guessed that it was her grandchild. But Irene was all but running towards it, her arms already stretched out.

The child caught sight of Irene and its wails increased slightly, but it too stretched out a small arm, making Sally exclaim slightly at the cuteness of it.

"He's been crying like crazy for you dear" Mrs Hudson said, and handed Nero over to Irene, who took him, and held him against her chest, rocking him gently.

"Thank you" she said to Mrs Hudson and John, and if Mycroft didn't know any better, then he would have said that her voice almost choked up. He had never heard so much emotion in her tone before and it startled him.

The way she was holding the baby, stroking its cheek gently with her finger, the gentleness in her tone as she murmured soothing words.

_No_.

It was the only thing that made sense.

_She was the mother_. Only a mother would hold a child with such extreme gentleness and love. He blinked, making sure that this was Irene Adler holding the baby, the one woman who had almost brought a country to its knees and hadn't thought twice about it. The cold, sarcastic and witty Irene Adler.

She had certainly changed drastically.

But then who was the father?

Mycroft supposed it was some sort of rich husband or lover she had in her new home. Irene Adler couldn't actually change that much.

Sherlock was slowly making his way over to the small group, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Otherwise however, his face was blank and smooth. No one could possibly guess what he had just gone through.

He went straight over to John. "Thank you" he said, and his tone almost exactly resembled Irene's, making Mycroft's eyes almost bug out.

John just grinned, the relief in his eyes also very clear.

"Yeah well you know." He said, clapping Sherlock on the back. "We couldn't just leave him could we? He's too adorable for that."

Sherlock groaned slightly. "Stop using that word to describe him" he said, but his tone was more playful than threatening.

"Hold him for me would you?" Irene asked suddenly. "I need to go and hug Mrs Hudson for keeping him safe."

Sherlock smiled, and held his arms out for the child. Lestrade's eyes widened.

No way.

Irene handed Nero over to Sherlock. "Thank you, _daddy_." She said saucily, and went over to practically squeeze the life out of Mrs Hudson, who gladly hugged Irene back. She had been so scared for them.

"Daddy?" Mycroft said sharply, and suddenly felt extremely dizzy as the reality of the situation came crashing down on him.

The way Sherlock was holding the baby wasn't awkward in the least; in fact it seemed almost natural. The little child was still wailing slightly, but it had quietened considerably after being in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock was rocking the baby ever so slightly, enough to soothe it certainly.

"Hold on" Lestrade began, sounding almost suspicious. "_Is that_ …Is that _Sherlock's_ baby?"

No one answered his question; they just continued staring at the two of them. Sherlock finally seemed to notice their gaze and sighed to himself. He had expected this.

As soon as Sherlock took a step, Mycroft closed the difference between them, with a dangerous expression in his eyes.

"_You didn't. "_

Nero whimpered slightly at Mycroft's reaction and tightened his hold on his father's coat. Sherlock gently patted his son on the back, raised an eyebrow and simply stared at Mycroft. He owed his brother a lot after tonight, but he couldn't resist making the most of the current situation.

"I thought, as an uncle Mycroft, you would have wanted to make a nicer impression."

Mycroft's expression suddenly became dangerously cold, and he had to take a deep breath to compose himself. He was fuming. His little brother was completely impossible.

"Uncle?" Lestrade asked, sharply, his voice full of disbelief. Sally was staring at Sherlock with utter shock, doing a brilliant impersonation of a goldfish. She hadn't even noticed that her mouth was open.

"But then who is the father?" Anderson asked, completely fulfilling his reputation as an idiot. Sherlock looked at him, his eyes full of disbelief. How stupid could Anderson get?

He rolled his eyes at him, and watched as realisation slowly registered. Anderson's expression now resembled Sally's.

John surveyed the scene in front of him in amusement. He especially enjoyed Mycroft's disbelief and fury, knowing that the times that Mycroft was caught so completely off guard in a situation could be counted on one hand.

Lestrade was the first to (at least partially) recover.

"Uh, Congratulations then." He said, slightly awkwardly and uncomfortably, but in a tone that clearly showed that he was happy for Sherlock.

Sherlock turned towards him, his expression detached as always, but with a shadow of a smile on his face.

"Thank you" he said simply, and Lestrade nodded.

Irene walked towards Sherlock then, and Sherlock handed Nero to her.

Nero had finally quietened, and looked at everyone that was surveying him with a gobsmacked look on their face with interest. "Ah?" he asked Irene and Sherlock, his tone full of interest. Irene smiled, but before she could say anything, Sherlock cut her off.

"Yes" he told his son, nodding. "Anderson really should close his mouth. I'm sure he can spare us the continuous sight of his tonsils."

Nero smiled at hearing his father's voice and nodded, while John laughed. Anderson looked extremely put out, but closed his mouth.

Mycroft took that time to glare at Sherlock, who simply raised an eyebrow, unintimidated by his brother, as always. Mycroft turned his full glare on Irene, but he should have known better. His expression failed to scare her.

Instead she looked at Sherlock, and he nodded to her silent enquiry.

It was time to go.

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Irene and Sherlock kept mostly to themselves that night. They said their goodbyes and their thanks to Lestrade and Mycroft at the pool, (Lestrade gave them a sincere smile, although he still looked rather baffled by the events of that evening, while Mycroft had a hard time keeping his face neutral.)

Neither brother spoke. Sherlock knew he owed his brother for this, but both he and Mycroft knew that the events of the current evening would never be mentioned again between the two of them. He knew Sherlock appreciated what he had just done for him, but that he would never say it out loud.

When they got back to baker Street, both John and Mrs Hudson sensed that the three of them wanted to be alone for a bit, and so they both said good night. Mrs Hudson kissed both Irene and Sherlock on the cheek, while John let his expression speak for him. Both he and Mrs Hudson were extremely relieved that the evening had turned out the way it did.

As soon as they were gone, Irene and Sherlock's façade disappeared. Till now, they had acted completely unaffected, but both knew exactly how close they had come to losing each other. They had had other things to think of until now, but suddenly they let the weight of the situation crash down on them. Thinking of what could have happened had Moriarty succeeded, or had Mycroft and Scotland Yard not acted fast enough, made them chilled to the bone.

They could both have died, and their son would have grown up an orphan.

Irene felt Sherlock's gaze on her the whole evening, and knew that he probably wouldn't let her out of his sight for a few days. Nor would he send her away.

He was being a lot more affectionate to Nero as well. Not that Sherlock didn't love his son, but he was certainly not one to let affection show openly.

But this evening he held Nero, talked to him, fed him, and even ended up tucking him into bed.

They both stood over their son's crib later that night, and watched him sleep. Sherlock's arm was around Irene, and she was leaning into him, needing the comfort he gave her.

Both were shaken by their experience. They hadn't let anyone else see it, and they weren't going too. Right now, they were still acting brave for each other, although they knew that their attempts were in vain. They could both feel their self-control slipping.

They weren't exactly sure when they dropped their barriers, but before she knew it, Irene was suddenly in Sherlock's arms, for the second time that evening. She put her arms around his neck and understood that this was a whole new level of intimacy. It wasn't sex; it had nothing to do with sex. Instead it was an affectionate motion. They were hugging because they wanted to, because they carved the comfort of each other's arms, and because they decided to both finally completely stop ignoring the fact that their relationship went beyond sex.

It was almost ridiculous, when they looked back now, just how much they had wanted to fool themselves. Of course they had known, ever since Karachi really, that they had a relationship that as based on real feeling and emotion, instead of sexual pleasure, and eventually they might have both admitted it. But to let go _completely_, to accept that they did really love each other was something new.

They had come so very close to saying it today. And yet, if Irene could have chosen, then she would have asked Sherlock not to say it to her now. Not because she was scared to accept the fact, that particular barrier had been overcome, but simply because it didn't need saying. They both knew the truth, and it suited their particular personalities much better to leave it unspoken.

But something had changed between them.

They fell asleep that night, curled up in each other's arms, finally completely acknowledging intimacy. They didn't need to talk much, the most important thing already hung in the air, unspoken.

Sherlock didn't hold back emotionally or physically from Irene that night. He touched, kissed and caressed every part of Irene while she clung to him, needing the comfort that only he could ever give her.

In the same room, Nero slept peacefully.

Though they would probably never acknowledge it, right now they were very much one big happy family.

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**I'm very sorry if the ending bit sounded a little perverse. :D**

**I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review, I would love to know what you thought!**

**Laura x**

**(Oh, one more important thing – I'm going on holiday for a few weeks, and I doubt I will have internet connection, so updates on all my stories might take a while).**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello,**

**to any of you who are still reading this story, I am so very sorry for the time it has taken to update this. When I started on this chapter, the whole thing felt so **_**extremely**_** out of character that I got very frustrated and just left it for ages, and focused on other writing projects instead. Then I got a horrible case of writers block ****so I didn't work much on any of my stories and then school started, which left me with very little time. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. To make up for my huge gap in updating, this is an especially long one.**

**Also, a guest reviewer who reviewed one of my other stories mentioned that I made characters like Sally and Anderson very one dimensional in this story, which I agree with. I didn't want to force it in this chapter, but I tried to get Sally in, and tried to remedy the issue, at least to an extent. :)**

**And lastly, thank you to everyone who has favourite, alerted, reviewed, helped and generally just stuck with me during this story, and also to everyone who read and reviewed (and favourite and followed etc. :D) 'Him and Her' because without the encouragement by that story I would never have started this one. **

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Sherlock woke up lazily the next morning, a feeling fairly new to him. Irene was still asleep, curled into his side, her arms partially on his chest. Sherlock lay there for a while, simply staring at the ceiling and occasionally playing with Irene's hair, enjoying the total quiet. Although it was eight in the morning, the flat was still completely silent, even though both John and Mrs Hudson were early risers. He suspected that after the emotional ordeal the day before, everyone would be drained and tired.

Even Nero, who generally woke either crying early in the morning, was still asleep. Sherlock untangled himself from Irene and got up, walking toward the crib where his son was still sleeping peacefully. He smiled at the little boy, relief once again crashing down on him that Mycroft had acted when he did. He realised he once again owed his brother a lot – especially now that Mycroft had to put up with the fact that Irene would become a constant part of his life.

Sherlock supposed that unlike him, Mycroft had spent the night tossing and turning, imagining the horrors in his life now that Irene was a steady part of it. However, although his brother was angry, Sherlock knew that over the years, his bond with Mycroft had grown, his older brother having realised that Sherlock needed to live his own life without his constant interference. This was a hurdle in their relationship, but the shock from his revelations yesterday would slowly subside and fade.

Sherlock yawned slightly and decided he may as well get dressed. The memory of last night's events left him wide awake.

Moriarty is dead, he reminded himself, a strange feeling of relief and content settling over him. While Moriarty had been a fun and entertaining distraction at the beginning, the game had got too out of hand. Especially now that there were people Sherlock loved more than anything in his life.

He was no longer surprised to hear himself admit that to himself. All those barriers had now been overcome.

Nero started whimpering then, apparently Sherlock's getting dressed had roused him. Sherlock smiled and walked over. Nero was attempting to somehow sit up in his crib, but he was still too young to sit up on his own. To spare him the effort Sherlock reached in and picked him up, making sure that Irene was still asleep.

Together the two of them walked into the kitchen.

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Nero seemed perfectly content after Sherlock fed and changed him and simply sat in his lap, apparently still tired. Sherlock was glad; he hoped that Nero would stay quiet so that he wouldn't wake anyone else up. He was expecting a visitor this morning, and would much prefer to conduct the subsequent conversation in private.

Sure enough, only a quarter of an hour later, there was a soft knock at the door. Sherlock hummed slightly in response, and Mycroft Holmes entered the room, looking almost afraid of what he might find.

Sherlock did not stand up to greet him and for several seconds the two brothers just stared at each other, until Mycroft's gaze dropped to Nero.

He was quick to look away.

Instead he continued to survey his brother, trying to assess what emotional impact the previous evening had had on him. He had seen how much more vulnerable his brother had become as soon as Irene Adler had been introduced into the deadly game between Sherlock and Moriarty and it worried him. Although he knew that Irene had not been working for the consulting criminal, he had witnessed how much of his emotional side Sherlock had exposed and how much easier it would have been to completely destroy him.

Although Moriarty was dead, Sherlock's weakness stayed. His little brother's job may not be extremely dangerous, but anyone Sherlock cared about became effective means with which to target him.

Sherlock didn't look at all shaken from the previous night. But, unlike before, it did not look like he was trying to hide his feelings behind a mask either. His feelings, though muted, were laid bare for Mycroft to see. Right now, the elder Holmes almost wished they wouldn't be, because he could clearly see the affection so prominent in his eyes.

"You're determined, then? To continue with this new life you've chosen for yourself?" Mycroft asked carefully, walking over to an empty chair but not sitting. Sherlock nodded.

"Yes." He said shortly, but then took a deep breath, remembering how much he owed his brother. The least he could do was to attempt to give some sort of explanation of his current predicament.  
>"Before perhaps…before I might have wished it to be otherwise, though there was no going back. But not now."<p>

Mycroft nodded slowly, but the need to protect his brother from experiencing feelings so detrimental to him was still strong. Even though he felt it would have no effect on Sherlock, he had to try.

"Moriarty is gone, but she will _always_ be used to target you Sherlock, no matter who the enemy is. She has become your biggest weakness. I saw that you were utterly prepared to give up everything for her, to die for her."

"I would have done the same for John. Or Mrs Hudson. Or Lestrade."

Mycroft nodded, not mentioning that his name wasn't on the list. It didn't need to be. He would never let Sherlock die for him.

"But Moriarty said it himself", he continued. His brother was clearly set on his new path in life, but it was his job to protect him. And that meant showing him exactly what it meant for Sherlock to have Irene Adler present in his life.

"She could make you feel anything, _do_ anything with the impact she has on you. You let her in further than you let anyone else, even John. No one has ever achieved that level of closeness with you."

"You're still worried about where exactly her loyalties lie," Sherlock said, making his question a statement. Mycroft remained silent, but Sherlock knew he was right. However, trying to explain to Mycroft that Irene was trustworthy and would not voluntarily hurt him would have no effect and so the pair of them once again lapsed into silence, Mycroft absorbing everything Sherlock had said.

"You trust her?" he asked at last, needing to hear in confirmed one more time. Sherlock had already implied it through his body language and other replies, but Mycroft wanted a straight answer.

"Completely."

The elder Holmes nodded and rose to leave, but Sherlock stopped him and gestured for him to sit.

"I want to thank you" he said and even Mycroft was surprised at the level of sincerity in his voice. "This is the second time I owe my life to you, and now Irene and Nero's too. I know how much you…resent my current situation, but I'm…grateful that that did not stop you."

Usually, hearing such a statement from Sherlock would have made him uncomfortable, and he would have been careful to keep his indifferent mask in place. But now Mycroft finally allowed himself a tiny smile, amused at his brother's slight discomfort but also touched by his words. "It's my job," he replied finally and Sherlock nodded.

"I have one more favour to ask" he said as Mycroft made his way to the door. The elder Holmes sighed.

"What now?" he questioned, but Sherlock knew he wasn't quite as irritated as he was letting on.

"You're going to hate me for this" he said with a small smile. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"Don't tell you're getting married?" he asked sarcastically and took a moment to appreciate the look of confusion that flashed across Sherlock's face, before it turned into horror. Mycroft allowed himself a grim smile.

"The snipers you brought down and captured last night" Sherlock said after clearing is throat and trying to dislodge all pictures of Irene in a white wedding gown from his mind. "Am I correct in assuming that they were major operatives in Moriarty's network?"

Mycroft nodded, frowning slightly. He guessed where his brother could be going with this, but Sherlock was rarely predictable.

"That means that Moriarty's web of crime has considerably weakened and will no longer pose a major threat to Irene, if any threat at all. I'm confident that Moriarty was the only she directly consulted with."

"Your point?" Mycroft asked somewhat impatiently.

Sherlock smiled grimly as he described his request to his brother. Mycroft was certainly not pleased, but, after a short discussion and a long battle of stares, finally relented.

He cast a lengthy look at Sherlock before he left, and couldn't help as his gaze drifted to his bedroom door, before he quickly looked away, determined not to think about the woman currently occupying his little brother's bed. But he finally allowed his gaze to drop to the tired and quiet infant in Sherlock's lap. His eyes swept over Nero, taking in his tuft of black, curly hair, his perfect lips and already angular cheekbones.

"He has your eyes" Mycroft admitted quietly, before turning around and holding his umbrella tightly for support as he exited the flat. Although he hadn't looked back, he was certain that Sherlock was smiling.

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Mrs Hudson was up the second she heard Sherlock's heavy footsteps walking around the flat playing his violin. He had composed a new song for Nero, who happily watched from the playpen Mrs Hudson had acquired for him several days ago. John got up not long afterwards, not making his presence known for several minutes as he watched the lovely scene before him – Sherlock playing his violin was nothing new, but seeing Nero laugh and attempt to make sounds to match the music was endearing. So was the fact that Sherlock didn't find it irritating at all. Instead he seemed greatly amused as he watched his son attempt to sing. The sight of it was so absurd that it left John speechless for a moment, before his expression changed from surprise to one of joy. It seemed that Sherlock had decided to drop all reserve after last night and be completely open with his feelings. He would have never thought he could have seen the cold and unaffected detective so changed.

And yet…Sherlock was still Sherlock. He was more human, but his brilliance and genius – in short, everything that made him what he was - was still there.

"I can't believe you just let me sleep" Irene said almost 20 minutes later, emerging from the bedroom in dark blue skinny jeans and one of Sherlock's shirts. She looked completely refreshed and calm. Only her eyes gave away any indication of what had happened, and even those feelings were masked by the relief she felt.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her humorously, a small smile of amusement playing on his features, knowing he shouldn't take the note of accusation in her tone seriously.

He simply made a small hum of appreciation in the back of his throat, but pulled out a chair. Their eyes connected for a second, and both of them were suddenly caught in a moment of oblivion as they smiled softly at each other. Both of them seemed very relaxed, and John would never have known what a big impact the last evening had had on them, if he hadn't been there to witness it personally.

Irene sat down next to Sherlock, holding out her arms for Nero, her affectionate smile widening as her son reached out for her. She immediately held him close to her chest, stroking his hair with one hand, while Mrs Hudson pushed a plate of toast, eggs, tomatoes and sausages in front of her.

"Nero seems content" Irene commented. "Did you change and feed him?"

Sherlock nodded, while Irene raised her eyebrows in surprise and nodded in satisfaction, glad that the way Sherlock behaved with Nero no longer seemed unorthodox to him.

The three grownups ate in silence for a moment, each thoughtful, before Sherlock disrupted the silence. As usual, he spoke his news in a complete nonchalant manner, though he knew it would have a large impact on Irene.

"Mycroft was here this morning" he said conversationally, picking up the newspaper and disappearing behind it.

"I assumed" she said, in the same tone as Sherlock, concentrating on trying to balance her scrambled eggs on her fork, while holding Nero securely. John just shook his head.

"I suppose he wanted to question you to see if you wouldn't get rid of me, am I right?" she said with a small smile, and even Sherlock smirked.

"Obviously. He isn't thrilled, as expected, by my situation, but I managed to make him do one more small thing for me".

John raised his eyebrows in interest, wondering what it could be. Mycroft had already proved to him just how determined he was to protect his younger brother, and John knew that he now held the elder Holmes in a higher regard. But he also knew that though however disguised, Mycroft's primary interest was to ensure his brother's safety, he too had his limits, and finding out that Sherlock had fathered a child with a woman the elder Holmes despised most of all certainly breached them. How Sherlock had managed to persuade Mycroft to do something else for him was beyond his understanding.

"Which would be?" Irene asked, this time also curious. The direction of her thoughts was the same as John's. She knew very well that the elder Holmes despised her, a fact which would generally have amused her, should she not owe him hers, Sherlock's and Nero's life. The fact that she was now a steady part of his younger brother's life would probably result in him getting many nights of restless sleep, and she too wondered how exactly Sherlock had managed to persuade Mycroft to exert himself once more for them.

"The snipers the Ministry of Defence managed to capture yesterday were very important people in Moriarty's network, certainly somewhere in the top circles." Sherlock continued. "They were interrogated yesterday, and as Moriarty is dead, they don't have to fear his wrath, so as expected, they told Mycroft's men absolutely everything. Moriarty's web of crime has reached and effective end. "

John took a moment to absorb what Sherlock has just said, but Irene was already a step ahead of him.

"You didn't…?" she said, suddenly full of hope.

Sherlock nodded, very pleased.

"I did, actually. You no longer have anything to fear from Moriarty's network, which means the one main source threatening your safety would be the British Government."

"Which Mycroft is practically in charge of…" John said, catching up. He paused, absolutely shocked.

"As of tomorrow, all files that are considered dangerous to the country with the name Irene Adler will be deleted. You're no longer considered a threat here, and are free to resume your old identity, if you wish. Any information the government could and would have used against you will be wiped from the records."

"You're kidding" John said, shaking his head. "I can't believe you got Mycroft to do that for you".

"It shouldn't be too hard, given the influence he wields" Sherlock commented nonchalantly, but paused when John sent him a reproachful look.

"But of course I'm glad he agreed to do it" he added, and John nodded in satisfaction.

"Irene?" he asked, after a pause, realising that she had been quiet for the course of his and Sherlock's conversation. Irene looked up at him, a thoughtful expression in her eyes, before she bit her lip thoughtfully and shook her head.

"I don't know if I want to." She spoke in a quiet voice, before taking a deep breath when she realised that John didn't understand what she was saying. Sherlock had already made the leap, but waited patiently for her to say it out loud, needing to hear it from her.

"I don't know if I want to resume my old identity" she repeated, and John exhaled in understanding.

"I think I've changed" Irene continued. "Going back to that identity would be like returning to the life I led then, and I don't want that."

"I assumed" Sherlock said, with a healthy amount of satisfaction at being able to read Irene, and the sentiment that had induced her decision, so clearly. "But you wouldn't be going back to your old life, Irene. You can keep your name, considering you've changed considerably since we first met."

Irene raised her head, a spark of faint playfulness in her eyes and opened her moth, but before she could tease Sherlock with her question, he shook his head.

"Before you ask, I happen to _know_ that Irene Adler is your official identity. You can't attempt to fool me with that one."

She raised her eyebrows in slight surprise, but realised that he had probably known this for some time, clever as he was.

"When did you find out?" she questioned, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips. Sherlock smirked.

"Right after I met you for the first time. And after I was lucid enough to form a proper sentence". He added as an afterthought, while John chuckled.

"Mycroft gave me access to most of your files, though he decided to keep the more scandalous from my eyes, evidently under the impression that some of the things you had done would make me scared if you." He rolled his eyes, while Irene smiled suggestively at him. "In terms of your identity, I have to admit you surprised me there" the detective continued. "I would have been ready to bet that your name was an alias or a fake identity to protect you. But I suppose" he said, eyes now twinkling slightly, "that that would have been very predictable. And dull."

Irene lips twitched into a slight smile at his last statement, but she remained thoughtful, before she finally raised her head and looked Sherlock straight in the eyes, a wide smile breaking out across her features.

"Thank you" she told Sherlock, and he returned her smile. John looked down, suddenly very interested in the tablecloth, wondering if he should attempt to exit discreetly now, and give the couple some privacy. Luckily, Nero, who had been very quiet during the whole exchange, saved him from any discomfort by suddenly laughing and grabbing a strand of Irene's hair.

Irene exclaimed in surprise and pain, while Sherlock tried to patiently pry his son's hands away. John just laughed.

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Lestrade and Sally visited Baker Street that afternoon. Lestrade wasn't quite sure what impact the previous evening had had on Sherlock, and was slightly concerned about him. Yesterday had been a whirlwind of anxiety, fear and overwhelming surprise and shock. Not only had Lestrade genuinely feared for Sherlock's life (as well as Irene's, obviously, though he didn't know her), but the shock of discovering Sherlock's newfound domesticity had been something almost blinding and unsettling for him.

But only at first. He now found himself marvelling at the new life Sherlock had created for himself and he was thrilled that even Sherlock (yes, _Sherlock_ _Holmes_) had found love. He knew too little of Irene to truly understand her character, but yesterday had been enough to show him her determination and fiery spirit. He already respected her for her willingness to die to protect her son, and he was interested to find out what other parts of her character could possibly attract the until then seemingly asexual detective.

He was also concerned for everyone's welfare at Baker Street. He knew that after recent experiences with Moriarty the whole occurrence must also have been extremely hard for John to deal with, and he hoped he was alright.

Of course, he was also worried about Sherlock, who was an expert at hiding any feeling he deemed detrimental to his intelligence and ability to remain objective. Yesterday, those few characteristics had very nearly crumbled, and even though Sherlock now had Irene to help him cope, Lestrade wasn't sure if Moriarty had partially succeeded in pushing Sherlock to his limits.

Sally had volunteered to go with him. When officers at the yard had caught hold of this, they had all asked her questions and were probably sitting at their desks eagerly awaiting her report of Sherlock's new situation in life.

But Sally wasn't going because of that. What she had seen yesterday had stunned her. She hadn't quite been able to believe that Sherlock, the man whose face broke out in an almost manic grin when he heard of someone's murder, Sherlock, who always publicly insulted and degraded everyone around him could have the emotional capacity to care for someone as much as it had been evident with Irene.

Sherlock had always scared her, because he had just seemed so amoral and inhuman. What she had said to John all those years ago (**'Someday, we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will have put it there'**) hadn't just been her ego talking, she had genuinely believed it to be a possibility.

But after yesterday, not so much.

She had to go along, because as baffling as the concept was, seeing Sherlock in such a…domestic environment where he genuinely cared for someone and loved someone was something that was slowly starting to change her opinion of him. And if she was blatantly honest with herself, deep down, she really wanted to give Sherlock a chance to change what she thought of him, for the better.

Baker Street had a calm, almost tranquil feeling to it when they arrived. Both of them stepped into the flat not knowing quite what to expect, but from Lestrade's previous visits, he knew that there was either a deadly calm around the place (when Sherlock was "bored" and no one knew what dangerous and potentially criminal thing the consulting detective would do to relieve himself of the feeling) or a bustle of chaotic activity, with John having given up trying to restore any sense of normality.

But today, everything was comfortably still and fairly quiet, with occasional murmurs coming from behind the closed door. Lestrade felt almost apprehensive about entering the flat, but also very curious.

The scene that greeted him was both absurd and completely natural at the same time.

John was sitting in one armchair, with his computer on his lap, answering his emails. Mrs Hudson was cleaning the kitchen looking rather unperturbed, as ever, a soft smile adorning her features as she looked over to Sherlock.

He sat by the microscope, carefully examining something, with Nero perched on his lap. The little boy was silent and had an almost thoughtful expression on his face, leaning his head against Sherlock's chest, one hand absentmindedly touching Sherlock's arm around his waist.

Although Sherlock didn't look up from the lens, he knew that Lestrade was there. He had clearly been able to distinguish the DI's heavy footsteps on the rickety stairs, as well as the sharp clicking of Donovan's heels against the wood.

"Close the door, Lestrade" he said without looking up. "Irene doesn't want Nero crawling outside, he might fall down the stairs."

Lestrade's eyes widened very slightly at Sherlock's remark, but the absurdity of it crashed down on him, and he gave a soft chuckle, before doing as he had been asked. He nodded at John in greeting.

"How are you doing, Sherlock?" he asked, eyeing the detective curiously, his eyes drifting down to the little boy in Sherlock's lap. He really looked a lot like his father. He had the same cheekbones, hair, eyes, even his expression was thoughtful.

Sherlock frowned. "Fine" he answered curtly, as if the question was insulting and the answer obvious. Sally raised her eyebrows slightly; already her resolve to improve her opinion of Sherlock was weakening. Yesterday she had caught glimpses of a completely different man, but right now he seemed utterly unchanged.

John coughed slightly from his chair, and Sherlock finally looked up at the pair. The expression in his eyes was not one of ridicule and condemnation as usual; instead there was truth and genuine warmth.

"Fine" he repeated, but in a different tone. The honest and soft way he said it made Lestrade believe him.

"DI Lestrade" Irene's warm voice suddenly rang out as she came out of Sherlock's bedroom. Lestrade and Sally immediately turned towards her, interested in the woman who had managed to capture the cold detective's heart. Sherlock also got up when he heard her approaching, and John grinned. The times that Sherlock willingly abandoned his microscope and research for someone else were very rare, and even though many people would interpret it as a common and polite gesture, it showed genuine respect and esteem on Sherlock's side.

Lestrade smiled slightly as he looked at Irene, now in such an ordinary environment. Just like with Sherlock, he had seen the more vulnerable side to her the day before, but now she seemed unaffected and confident. But Lestrade knew that after yesterday, she couldn't possibly be completely untouched.

Sally examined the woman carefully. She was dressed simply, in skinny jeans and a shirt that looked suspiciously like Sherlock's, with the top buttons open. She had no makeup on and her long brown hair flowed freely down her back. In her eyes Sally saw confidence and warmth.

"You must be Sergeant Donovan" Irene said brightly as she shook Sally's hand. "We met last year".

Sally's eyes widened, but Irene didn't elaborate further. Sherlock simply chuckled, while John raised his eyebrows.

"What am I missing?" he asked, and Irene grinned.

"Sherlock and I had to investigate the murder of a man whose wife killed him by adding additional poison to food he was allergic to, as far as I remember" she told him, and Lestrade's eyes widened.

Irene could see that the two from Scotland Yard had figured it out, but didn't feel like going through the history of her relationship with Sherlock.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked, cutting off anything Lestrade wanted to say. "Mrs Hudson made cake."

"No thanks." Lestrade said, still surprised at Irene's earlier declaration. "We just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Thank you" Irene said, and cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows at Sherlock. He looked at her in question, before he sighed.

"Thank you" he repeated, much to John and Lestrade's amusement. Even Sally cracked a smile.

Both Lestrade and Sally, when examining the pair closely, could see the affection in their eyes. But the blazing love and respect was also prominent.

Sally smiled to herself in satisfaction. For some people it might not be much, but the feeling and emotion in Sherlock's eyes when he looked at Irene and Nero spoke volumes.

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Irene stayed with Sherlock for another month, the longest she had ever stayed in Baker Street. Even if John had still felt a dislike towards her, he knew that the feeling would be totally extinguished by now. Irene no longer scared him or made him nervous; instead he genuinely enjoyed spending time with her.

Spending time with Nero was something the ex-army doctor also enjoyed. He liked children, and wanted children. Having Nero at Baker Street made life just a little bit brighter.

Sherlock was also a lot easier to live with. The bond he shared with Nero was very strong, and as surreal as it might have seemed before, Sherlock was actually a brilliant father. He was protective of Nero, but spent plenty of time with him, and became so much gentler.

Even Mycroft occasionally visited his nephew. He could never truly get along with Irene, but he respected her, and over time, he realised that contrary to what he had believed, she was exactly the type of woman Sherlock needed. While it unsettled him at first, the gradual change in his little brother's personality suddenly became a positive thing.

Sherlock didn't change completely of course, and neither did Irene. Sherlock was still a brilliant detective, now even more so, because his understanding of sentiment and emotional motivation had grown. He was still arrogant and fiercely clever, and could at times be intolerable, but he became more bearable. Around John, Irene and Nero he was almost considerate and warm, around others he grew less mean. Even Sally could no longer say she hated him.

Irene also stayed fiercely independent. She was still strong willed and determined, but, just like Sherlock, gentler in her censure of others and her sadistic streak had vanished.

While John was disappointed, he wasn't surprised when Irene chose not to stay at Baker Street. For people like Sherlock and Irene, who had such similar personalities, truly coexisting was impossible. But because Irene was now safe and had nothing more to fear in Britain, she moved closer, and both hers and Nero's or Sherlock's visits were very frequent.

After all, the three of them needed each other.

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**Finished!**

**Once again, THANK YOU to everyone! Writing this has been very fun, and I couldn't have done it without you. **

**I hope you liked it!**

**Laura xxxx**


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